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THE 



CRAYON EEADIN& BOOK: 



COMPRISING 



SELECTIONS FROM THE VARIOUS WRITINGS 



WASHINGTON IRVING. 



^rBprtii hx tiiB d^u nf Irljnnls. 



NEW-YORK: 

GEO. P. PUTNAM, 155 BROADWAY. 

1849. 






%', 



V 



G^r^ 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1849, by 

George P. Putnam, 

in the Clerck's Office of the District Court for the Southern District 
of New- York. 



John F. Trow, 

Printer and Si er eotyper , 

49 Ann-street, New- York. 



PUBLISHER'S ADVERTISEMENT. 

X In compliance with the suggestion of several teachers, 

this volume has been prepared as a reading book for schools. 
" The Sketch Book " having been already chosen as a class- 
book in some of the higher schools, it was considered that a 
selection from all the writings of Irving, with special refer- 
ence to this purpose, would form a very acceptable and 
attractive book : the variety of topics being such as would 
excite the attention and interest of the pupil : while as 
models of Composition, the publisher presumes that these 
pages will be also well approved by instructors who appreciate 
the advantages of a chaste and classic English style. 



CONTENTS. 



SELECTED FROM 

Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain, . . (ii/e of Columbus. 

Columbus before the Council at Salamanca, 

Columbus at the Convent of la Rabida, 

Columbus first discovers the New World, 

First Landing of Columbus in the New World, 

Reception of Columbus by the Spanish Court, 

Columbus in Irons, ..... 

Arrival at Court in Irons, 

Departure of Columbus on his Second Voyage, 

Discovery of the Mines of Hayna, 

A Gold Mania in Hispaniola in 1503, 

Discovery of the Pacific Ocean, 

Vasco Nunez on the shores of the South Sea, 

Execution of Vasco Nuiiez, .... 

The Author's Visit to the Convent of la Rabida, 

Philip of Pokanoket ; an Indian Memoir, . (Sketch Book.) 

Traits of Indian Character, .... " 

The Mouth of the Columbia, .... (Astoria.) 

Flight of Pigeons, 

An Indian Council Lodge, 

Domestic Life of an Indian, 

Return of a War Party. 

The Wilderness of the Far West, 

The Black Mountains, 

Climate and Productions of Oregon, 

Prairie Hunting Grounds, 

A Night Scene on the Prairies, . (Crayon Miscellany.) 



PAQB. 

> 9 

12 

19 

23 

26 

29 

35 

37 

41 

44 

47 

49 

52 

54 

57 

66 

80 

93 

97 

102 

106 

107 

111 

114 

119 

125 

126 



Vlll CONTENTS. 








SELECTED FROM 


PAOB. 


A Bee Hunt, 


{Crayon Miscellany.) 


129 


Picturesque March on the Prairies, 


•' 


133 


Crossing the Arkansas, 


" 


136 


Thunder Storm on the Prairies, 


» 


138 


Lamentations of the Moors for the Battle 






of Lucena, .... 


{Conquest of Granada.) 


141 


Tlie Christian Army at the City of Cordova 


, 


145 


Boabdill's Return to Granada, 


" 


151 


Surrender of Granada, 


» 


153 


How the Castilian Sovereigns took possession 




of Granada, .... 


{Conquest of Granada.) 


157 


A Practical Philosopher, 


{Braccbridge Hall.) 


161 


Filial Affection, .... 


" 


161 


Wives, ...... 


" 


164 


Invisible Companions, 


. 


166 


The Storm Ship, .... 


" 


170 


Westminster Abbey, .... 


{Sketch Book.) 


177 


Christmas, ...... 


" 


190 


Death, 


" 


192 


The Widow and her Son, 


« 


195 


The Voyage, ..... 


. 


204 


The Alhambra by Moonlight, 


, {The Alhambra) 


211 


The Court of Lions, 


. 


213 


The Situation of New-York, 


{Knickerbocker.) 


215 


Italian Scenery, .... 


{Tales of a Traveller.) 


216 


Voyage up the Hudson, 


{Knickerbocker.) 


218 


The Character of Columbus, 


{Life of Columbus.) 


223 


A Thunder Storm on the Hudson, 


{Bracebridge Hall.) 


226 


Absent Friends, .... 


{Salmagundi.) 


229 


A Summer Evening in America, 


" 


229 


Influence of Nature on the Heart, 


« 


230 


Love of Fame, ..... 


" 


231 


Some Traits of Sir W. Scott's Character, 


{Crayon Miscellany ) 


232 


Character of Goldsmith, 


{Life of Goldsmith.) 


234 


Birds of Spring, ..... 


{3Iiscellanies.) 


235 


Portrait of a Dutchman, 


{Knickerbocker.) 


240 


Morn, Noon, and Evening at Granada, {Conquest of Granada.) 


241 


Scottish Music, .... 


{Crayon Miscellany.) 


243 


Parliament Oak, Sherwood Forest, 


" 


245 


The Wife, 


{Sketch Book.) 


246 



THE 



CllAYON READING BOOK. 



Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain. 

I^'kudinani) was of llu; iniddlo staliin', \V(!ll |>ro|)oi- 
tioiHMl, and liardy and activ^o from a1hl(!lic. (ixiMciso. 
His carriage was free, erecl, and majestic. \\v. hud a 
clear sen-one forehead, which appeared moni iofly from 
his head heing partly l);dd. His (eyebrows were large 
and p;irt(M], and, lik(^ iiis li;iir, of a hrigiit (ihestnnt ; his 
(>y(\s \V(Me rXvwx and ;inim;t(('d ; his complexion was 
sominviial ruddy, and scorched by the toils of war; his 
month modeial<i, wvW foinu'd, and gracious in its expres- 
sion ; his teeth while, tliough small and irregular; his 
voice sharp; his speech (juick and fluent. His genius 
was clear and comprelKMisive ; his Judgment grave and 
certain. He was sim})le in dress and diet, ecpiable in iiis 
temper, devout in liis religion, and so indefatigable in 
husiness, that it was said he seemed to repose himself by 
working. He was a great ohs(M-ver and judge of men, 
and unparalleled in the science of the cabinet. Such is 
the picture given of him by the Spanish historians of his 
time. It has bccm addcsd, however, that he had more of 
bigotry than religion ; that his ambition was craving 
rather than magnanimous; that he made war l(!ss like a 

I* 



10 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

paladin than a prince, less for glory than for mere domi- 
nion ; and that his policy was cold, selfish, and artful. 
He was called the wise and prudent in Spain ; in Italy, 
the pious ; in France and England, the ambitious and 
perfidious. He certainly was one of the most subtle 
statesmen, but one of the most thorough egotists, that 
ever sat upon a throne. 

While giving his picture, it may not be deemed 
impertinent to sketch the fortunes of a monarch whose 
policy had such an effect upon the history of Columbus 
and the destinies of the New World. Success attended 
all his measures. Though a younger son, he had as- 
cended the throne of Arragon by inheritance ; Castile he 
obtained by marriage ; Granada and Naples by conquest ; 
and he seized upon Navarre as appertaining to any one 
who could take possession of it, when Pope Julius H. 
excommunicated the sovereigns, Juan and Catalina, and 
gave their throne to the first occupant. He sent his 
forces into Africa, and subjugated, or reduced to vassal- 
age, Tunis, Tripoli, Algiers, and most of the Barbary pow- 
ers. A new world was also given to him, without cost, 
by the discoveries of Columbus, for the expense of the 
enterprise was borne exclusively by his consort Isabella. 
He had three objects at heart from the commencement 
of his reign, which he pursued with bigoted and per- 
secuting zeal ; the conquest of the Mooi-s, the expulsion 
of the Jews, and the establishment of the Inquisition in 
his dominions. He accomplished them all, and was 
rewarded by Pope Innocent VIII. with the appellation of 
Most Catliolic Majesty — a title which his successors have 
tenaciously retained. 

Contemporary writers have been enthusiastic in their 
descriptions of Isabella, but time has sanctioned their 
eulogies. She is one of the purest and most beautiful 



FERDINAND AND ISABELLA OF SPAIN. H 

characters in the pages of history. She was well formed, 
of the middle size, with great dignity and gracefulness 
of deportment, and a mingled gravity and sweetness of 
demeanor. Her complexion was fair ; her hair auburn, 
inclining to red ; her eyes were of a clear blue, with a 
benign expression, and there was a singular modesty in 
her countenance, gracing, as it did, a wonderful firmness 
of purpose, and earnestness of spirit. Though strongly 
attached to her husband, and studious of his fame, yet 
she always maintained her distinct rights as an allied 
prince. She exceeded him in beauty, in personal dignity, 
in acuteness of genius, and in grandeur of soul. Com- 
bining the active and resolute qualities of man with the 
softer charities of woman, she mingled in the warlike 
councils of her husband, engaged personally in his enter- 
prises, and in some instances surpassed him in the firm- 
ness and intrepidity of her measures ; while, being in- 
spired with a truer idea of glory, she infused a more lofty 
and generous temper into his subtle and calculating 
policy. 

It is in the civil history of their reign, however, that 
the character of Isabella shines most illustrious. Her 
fostering and maternal care was continually directed to 
reform the laws, and heal the ills engendered by a long 
course of internal wars. She loved her people, and while 
diligently seeking their good, she mitigated, as much as 
possible, the harsh measures of her husband, directed to 
the same end, but inflamed by a mistaken zeal. Thus, 
though almost bigoted in her piety, and perhaps too much 
under the influence of ghostly advisers, still she was 
hostile to every measure calculated to advance religion 
at the expense of humanity. She strenuously opposed 
the expulsion of the Jews, and the establishment of the 
Inquisition, though, unfortunately for Spain, her repug- 



12 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

nance was slowly vanquished by her confessors. She 
was always an advocate for clemency to the Moors, 
although she was the soul of the war against Granada. 
She considered that war essential to protect the Christian 
faith, and to relieve her subjects from fierce and formida- 
ble enemies. While all her public thoughts and acts 
were princely and august, her private habits were simple, 
frugal, and unostentatious. In the intervals of state 
business, she assembled round her the ablest men in 
literature and science, and directed herself by their coun- 
sels, in promoting letters and arts. Through her patron- 
age, Salamanca rose to that height which it assumed 
among the learned institutions of the age. She promoted 
the distribution of honors and rewards for the promul- 
gation of knowledge ; she fostered the art of printing 
recently invented, and encouraged the establishment of 
presses in every part of her kingdom ; books were admit- 
ted free of all duty, and more, we are told, were printed 
in Spain, at that early period of the art, than in the pre- 
sent literary age. 



Columbus before the Council at Salamanca. 

The interesting conference relative to the proposition 
of Columbus * took place in Salamanca, the great seat of 
learning in Spain. It was held in the Dominican con- 
vent of St. Stephen, in Avhich he was lodged and enter- 
tained with great hospitality during the course of the 
examination. 

Religion and science were at that time, and more 

* In reference to his first voyage. 



COLUMBUS BEFORE THE COUNCIL AT SALAMANCA. 13 

especially in that country, closely associated. The 
treasures of learning were immured in monasteries, and 
the professors' chairs were exclusively filled from the 
cloister. The domination of the clergy extended over 
the state as well as the church, and posts of honor and 
influence at court, with the exception of hereditary no- 
bles, were almost entirely confined to ecclesiastics. It 
was even common to find cardinals and bishops in helm 
and corslet at the head of armies ; for the crosier had 
been occasionally thrown by for the lance, during the 
holy war against the Moors. The era was distinguished 
for the revival of learning, but still more for the preva- 
lence of religious zeal, and Spain surpassed all other 
countries of Christendom in the fervor of her devotion. 
The Inquisition had just been established in that king- 
dom, and every opinion that savored of heresy made its 
owner obnoxious to odium and persecution. 

Such was the period when a council of clerical sages 
was convened in the collegiate convent of St. Stephen, to 
investigate the new theory of Columbus. It was com- 
posed of professors of astronomy, geography, mathemat- 
ics, and other branches of science, together with various 
dignitaries of the church, and learned friars. Before this 
erudite assembly, Columbus presented himself to pro- 
pound and defend his conclusions. He had been scoffed 
at as a visionary by the vulgar and the ignorant ; but he 
was convinced that he only required a body of enlight- 
ened men to listen dispassionately to his reasonings, to 
insure triumphant conviction. 

The greater part of this learned junto, it is very pro- 
bable, came prepossessed against him, as men in place 
and dignity are apt to be against poor applicants. There 
is always a proneness to consider a man under examina- 
tion as a kind of delinquent, or impostor, whose faults 



14 THE ntAYON HEADING BOOK. 

and errors are to be detected and exposed. Columbus, too. 
appeared in a most unfavorable light before a scholastic 
body : an obscure navigator, a member of no learned hi- 
stitution, destitute of all the trappings and circumstances 
which sometimes give oracular authority to dulness, and 
depending upon the mere force of natural genius. Some 
of the junto entertained the popular notion that he was 
an adventurer, or at best a visionary ; and others had 
that morbid iminitience of any innovation upon estab- 
lished doctrine, which is apt to grow upon dull anii 
pedantic men in cloistered life. 

What a striking spectacle must the hall of the old 
convent have presented at this memorable conference ! 
A simple mariner, standing forth in the midst of an 
imposing array of professors, friars, and dignitaries of the 
church ; maintaining his theory with natural eloquence, 
and, as it were, pleading the cause of the New World. 
We are told that when he began to state the grounds of 
his belief, the friars of St. Stephen alone paid attention to 
him ; that convent being more learned in the sciences 
than the rest of the university. The others appear to 
have intrenched themselves behind one dogged position ; 
that, after so many profound philosophers and cosmogra- 
phers had been studying the form of the world, and so 
many able navigators had been sailing about it for several 
thousand years, it was great presumption in an ordinary 
man to suppose that there remained such a vast discovery 
for him to make. 

Several of the objections proposed by this learned 
body have been handed down to us, and have provoked 
many a sneer at the expense of the university of Sala- 
manca ; but they are proofs, not so much of the peculiar 
deficiency of that institution, as of the imperfect state of 
science at the time, and the manner in which knowledge, 



COLUMBUS BEFORli: TIIE COUNCIL AT SALAMANCA. 15 

though rapidly extending, was still impeded in its pro- 
gress by monastic bigotry. All subjects were still con- 
templated through the obscure medium of those ages 
when the lights of antiquity were trampled out and faith 
was left to fill tiie place of inquiry. Hewildenjd in a 
maze of religious controversy, mankind had retraced 
their steps, and receded from the boundary line of an- 
cient knowledge. Thus, at the very threshold of the 
discussion, instead of geographical objections, Columbus 
was assailed with citations from the Bible and the Tes- 
tament : the book of Genesis, the psalms of David, the 
proplu^ts, the epistles, and the gospels. To these were 
added the expositions of various saints and reverend 
commentators : St. Chrysostom and St. Augustine, St. 
Jerome and St. Gregory, St. Basil and St. Arn])rose, and 
Lactantius Firmianus, a redoubted champion of the faith. 
Doctrinal points were mixed up with philosophical dis- 
cussions, and a matheuiatical demonstration was allowed 
no weiglit, if it ap])ean!d to clash with a text of Scripture, 
or a commentary of one of the fathers, "^riius the possi- 
bility of antipodes, in the southern hemisphere, an opinion 
so generally maintained by the wisest of the ancients, as 
to be pronounced by Pliny the great contest between the 
learned and the ignorant, became a stumbling-block with 
some of the sages of Salamanca. Several of them stoutly 
contradicted this fundamental position of Cohimbus, sup- 
porting themselves by quotations from Lactantius and 
St. Augustine, who were considered in those days as 
almost evangelical authority. But, though these writers 
were men of consummate erudition, and two of the 
greatest luminaries of what has been called the golden 
age of ecclesiastical learning, yet their writings were 
calculated to perpetuate darkness in respect to the sci- 
ences. 



16 THE CRAYON RnADINrt BOOK. 

The passage cited from Lactautius to confute Colum- 
bus, is in a strain of gross ridicule, unworthy of so grave 
a theologian. '' Is there any one so tbolish," he asks, 
" as to believe that there are antipodes with their feet 
opposite to ours ; people who walk with their heels up- 
ward, and their heads luinging down? That there is a 
part of the world in whieh all things are topsy-turvy: 
where the trees grow with their branches downward, 
and where it rains, hails and snows upward '? The 
idea o( the roundness of the earth," he adds, " was the 
cause of inventhig this fable of the antipodes, with their 
heels in the air ; for these philosophers, having once 
erred, go on in their absurdities, defending one with an- 
other."^ 

Objections of a graver natiue were advanced on tlie 
authority of St. Augustine. He pronounces the doctrine 
of antipodes to be incompatible with the historical foun- 
dations of our faith ; since, to assert that there were in- 
habited lands on the opposite side of the globe, would be 
to maintain that there were nations not descended from 
Adam, it being impossible for them to have passed the 
intervening ocean. This would be, therefoi-e, to discredit 
the Bible, which expressly declares, that all men are 
descended from one common parent. 

Sui'h were (he unlooked-for prejudices which Colum- 
bus had to eucmmter at the very outset of his conference, 
and which certainly relish more oi' the convent than the 
university. To his simplest proposition, the spherical 
form of the earth, were opposed ligurative texts of Scrijv 
ture. They observed that in the Psalms the heavens are 
said to be extended like a hide, that is, according to com- 
mentators, the curtain or covering of a tent, which, among 
the ancient pastoral nations, was formed o( the hides of 
animals ; and that St. Paul, in his Epistle to the He- 



COLUMBUS BEFORK THE COUNCIL AT SALAMANCA. 17 

brews, compares Uk^ Ik^mvciis lo a, tabernacle, or lent, 
extended over the eartli, whicli tliey tlxnicc inferred 
must be flat. 

Colnmbus, who was a devoutly reUgious man. found 
that h(; was in danger of b(Mng convicted not merely of 
error, but of heterodoxy. Others more versed in science 
admitted the globular form of the earth, and the possi- 
bility of an opposite and habitable hemisphere ; but they 
brought up the chimera of the ancients, and mainlaiiKid 
that it would be impossible to arrive there, in consequence 
of the insupportable heat of the torrid zone. Even grant- 
ing this could be passed, they observed that the circum- 
ference of the earth must be so great as to a(;([iiir(! at least 
three years to the voyage, and those who should under- 
take it must perish of hunger and thirst, from the impos- 
sibility of carrying provisions for so long a period. He 
was told, on the authority of Epicurus, that admitting 
the earth to be spherical, it was only inhalMtable in the 
northern hemisphere, and in that sectioji only was cano- 
pied l)y the heavens ; that the opposite half was a chaos, 
a gulf, or a mere waste of water. Not the least absurd 
objection advanced was, that should a ship even succeed 
in reaching, in this way, the extremity of India, she 
could never get back again; for the rotundity of the 
globe would present a kind of mountain, up which it 
would be impossible for her to sail with the most favora- 
ble wind. 

Such are specimens of the errors and prejudices, the 
mingled ignorance and erudition, and the pedantic bigot- 
ry, with which Columbus had to contend throughout the 
examination of his theory. Can we wonder at the diffi- 
culties and delays which he experienced at courts, when 
such vague and crude notions were entertained by the 
learned men of a university ? We must not suppose. 



18 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

however, because the objections here cited are all which 
remain on record, that they are all which were ad- 
vanced ; these only have been perpetuated on account 
of their superior absurdity. They were probably ad- 
vanced by but few, and those persons innnersed in theo- 
logical studies, in cloistered retirement ; where the erro- 
neous opinions derived from books, had little opportunity 
of being corrected by the experience of the day. 

There were no doubt objections advanced more co- 
gent in their nature, and more worthy of that distin- 
guished university. It is but justice to add, also, that 
the replies of Columbus had great weight with many of 
his learned examiners. In answer to the Scriptural ol>- 
jections, he submitted that the inspired writers were not 
speaking technically as cosmographers, but figuratively, 
in language addressed to all comprehensions. The com- 
mentaries of the fathers he treated with deference as 
pious homilies, but not as philosophical propositions 
which it was necessary either to admit or to refute. The 
objections drawn from ancient philosophers he met boldly 
and ably upon equal terms ; for he was deeply studied 
on all points of cosmography. He showed that the most 
illustrious of those sages believed both hemispheres to be 
inhabitable, though they imagined that the torrid zone 
precluded comnnniication ; and he obviated conclusively 
that ditliculty ; for he had voyaged to St. George la Mina 
in Guinea, almost under the equinoctial line, and had 
found that region not merely traversable, but abounding 
in population, in fruits and pasturage. 

When Columbus took his stand before this learned 
body, he had appeared the plain and simple navigator ; 
somewhat daunted, perhaps, by the greatness of his task, 
and the august nature of his auditory. But he had a 
degree of religious feeling which gave him a confidence in 



COLUMBUS AT THE CONVENT OF LA RABIDA. 19 

the execTition of what he conceived his great errand, and 
he was of an ardent temperament that became healed in 
action by its own generous fires. Las Casas, and others 
of his contemporaries, have spoken of Iiis commanding 
person, his elevated demeanor, his air of authority, his 
kindhng eye, and the persuasive intonations of his voice. 
How must they have given majesty and force to his 
words, as, casting aside his maps and charts, and dis- 
carding for a time his practical and scientific lore, his 
visionary spirit took fire at tlie doctrinal objections of his 
opponents, and he met them upon their own ground, 
pouring forth those magnificent texts of Scripture, and 
those mysterious predictions of the prophets, which, in 
his enthusiastic mornents, he considered as types and 
annunciations of the sublime discovery which he pro- 
posed ! 



Columbus at the Convent of La Rahida. 

About half a league from the little sea-port of Palos 
de Moguer in Andalusia there stood, and continues to 
stand at the present day, an -ancient convent of Francis- 
can friars, dedicated to Santa Maria do Rabida. One 
day a stranger on foot, in humble guise, but of a distin- 
guished air, accompanied by a small boy, stopped at the 
gate of the convent, and asked of the porter a little bread 
and water for his child. While receiving this humble 
refreshment, the prior of the convent, Juan Perez de Mar- 
chena, happening to pass by, was struck with the appear- 
ance of the stranger, and observing from his air and 
accent that he was a foreigner, entered into conversation 
with him, and soon learned the particulars of his story. 



20 THE CKAYON KEADING BOOK. 

That stranger was Columbus. He was on his way to 
the neighboring town of Huelva, to seek his brother-in- 
law, who had married a sister of his deceased wife. 

The prior was a man of extensive information. His 
attention liad been turned in some measure to geographi- 
cal and nautical science, probably from his vicinity to 
Palos, the inhabitants of which were among the most 
enterprising navigators of Spain, and made frequent 
voyages to the recently discovered islands and countries 
on the African coast. He was greatly interested by the 
conversation of Columbus, and struck with the grandeur 
of his views. It was a remarkable occurrence in the 
monotonous life of the cloister, to have a man of such 
singular character, intent on so extraordinary an enter- 
prise, applying for bread and water at the gate of his 
convent. 

When he found, however, that the voyager was on 
the point oi' abandoning Spain to seek patronage in the 
court of France, and that so important an enterprise was 
about to be lost for ever to the coimtrj'', the patriotism of 
the good friar took the alarm. He detained Colmnbus 
as his guest, and, dillident of his own judgment, sent for 
a scientitic friend to converse with him. That friend 
was Garcia Fernandez, a physician, resident in Palos, 
the same who fmnishes this interesting testimony. Fer- 
nandez was equally struck with the appearance and 
conversation of the stranger ; several conferences took 
place at the convent, at which several of the veteran 
mariners of Palos were present. Among these was Mar- 
tin Alonzo Pinzon, the head of a fomily of wealthy and 
experienced navigators of the place, celebrated lor their 
adventurmis expeditions. Facts were related by some 
of these navigators in support of the theory of Columbus. 
In a word, liis j)roject was treated with a deference in the 



COLUMHaS AT TIIK OONVKNT OF LA UABIDA. 21 

quiet cloisters of l.n Jiiil)i(]a, and aniojig the seal'aring 
men oi'Palos, wliicli had Ixien soiiglit in vain among the 
sages and philosophers of tlie court. Martin Alonzo Pin- 
zon, especially, was so coiiviiic(!d of its feasibility that he 
offered to engage in it with ])urse and person, and to bear 
the expenses of Columbus in a renewed application to 
the court. 

Friar Juan Perez was confirmed in his faith by the 
concurrence of those learned and practical councillors. 
He had once been confessor to Wio (|ucen, and knew that 
she was always accessible; to persons of his sacred call- 
ing. He proposed to write to her immediately on the 
subject, and entreated Columbus to delay his jouni(;y 
imtil an answer could be received. The latter was easily 
persuaded, for he felt as if, in leaving >Spain, he was again 
abandoning his home. He was also reluctant to renew, 
in another court, the vexations and disappointments ex- 
perienced in Spain and Portugal. 

The little council at the convent of La Kabida now 
cast round their eyes for an ambassador to depart upon 
this momentous rrussion. They chose one Sol)astian 
Rodriguez, a pilot of ItO.pr., one of the most shrewd and 
important personages in this maritime neighborhood. 
The queen was, at this time, at Santa Fe, ihc; military 
city which had been built in the Vega bcfon; (jiranada, 
after the conflagration of Iho royal camj). The honest 
pilot ac(pjitted himself AuthfuUy, expeditiously, and suc- 
ccssfidly, in his embassy. Ho found access to the 
benignant princess, and delivered the epistle of the friar. 
Isabella had always been favorably disposed to the pro- 
position of (yolumbus. She wrote in n^ply to Juan Perez, 
thanking him for his timely services, and requesting that 
he would rejjair immediately to the court, leaving (>hris- 
topher Columbus in confident hope until he should hear 



22 TUK CRAYON READING BOOK. 

further from her. This royal letter was brought back by 
the pilot at the end of fourteen days, and spread great joy 
in the little junto at the convent. No sooner did the 
warm-hearted friar receive it, than he saddled his mule, 
and departed privately, before midnight, for the court. 
He journeyed through the conquered countries of the 
Moors, and rode into the newly-erected city of Santa Fe, 
wliere the sovereigns were superintending the close in- 
vestment of the capital of Granada. 

Tlie sacred ollice of Juan Perez gained him a ready 
entrance in a court distinguished for religious zeal ; and, 
once admitted to the presence of the queen, his former 
relation, as father confessor, gave him great freedom of 
counsel. He pleaded the cause of Columbus with char- 
acteristic enthusiasm, speaking, from actual knowledge, 
of his honorable motives, his professional knowledge and 
experience, and his perfect capacity to fulfil the under- 
taking ; he represented the solid principles upon which 
the enterprise was founded, the advantage that must 
attend its success, and the glory it must shed upon the 
Spanish crown. It is probable that Isabella had never 
heard the proposition urged with such honest zeal and 
impressive eloquence. Being naturally more sanguine 
and susceptible than the king, and more open to warm 
and generous impulses, she was moved by the repre- 
sentations of Juaii Perez, which were warmly seconded 
by her favorite, tlie Marchioness of Moya, who entered 
into the affair with a woman's disinterested enthusiasm. 
The queen requested that Columbus might be again sent 
to her, and. with the kind considerateness whicii charac- 
terized her, bethinking herself of his poverty, and his 
humble plight, ordered that twenty thousand marave- 
dies * in tlorins should be forwarded to him, to bear his 

* Or 72 dollars, and equivalent to 216 dollars of the present day. 



COLUMBUS AT THE CONVENT OF LA RABIDA. 23 

travelling oxpoiisc^s, to ])rovi(]o him with a ninl(i i'or his 
journey, and to lurnisli liini with decent raiment, that he 
might make a respectable appearance at the court. 

The worthy friar lost no time in connmmicating tlie 
result of his mission ; he transmitted tin; money, and a 
letter, by the hands of an inhabitant of Palos, to the 
pliysieian Garcia Fernande/, who delivered them to 
Columhus. The latter complied with the instructions 
conveyed in the epistle. He exchanged his threadbare 
garb for one more suited to the sphere of a court, and, 
purchasing a mule, set out once more, reanimated by 
hopes, for the camp before Granada. 



Columbus first Discovers Land in the New World. 

Columbus was now at open defiance with his crew, 
and his situation became desperate. Fortunately the 
manifestations of the vicinity of land were such on the 
folio whig day as no longer to admit a douht. JJesidcs a 
quantity of fresh weeds, such as grow in rivers, they saw 
a green fish of a kind which keeps about ro(;ks; then a 
branch of thorn with berries on it, and recently separated 
1 V(jm the tree, floated by them ; then they picked up a 
reed, a small board, and, aliove all, a staff artificially 
carved. All gloom and mutiny now gave way to san- 
guine expectation ; and throughout the day each one was 
eagerly on the watch, in hopes of being the first to dis- 
cover the long-sou ght-for land. 

In the evening, when, according to invariable custom 
on board the admiral's ship, the mariners had sung the 
salve rejn-ina, or vesper hymn to the Virgin, he made an 



24 TUK CRAYOiN IMiiAUlNU BOOK. 

impressive aildress to his crew. He pointed out the 
goothiess of God in thus conducting them by soft and 
favoring bret>zos across a tnuuiuil ocean, cheering their 
hopes continually with fresh signs, increasing as their 
fears augmented, and thus leading and guiding them to 
a promised laud, lie now reminded them of (he orders 
he had given on leavhig tlie Canariivs, that, after sailing 
westward seven Inmdred leagues, they should not make 
sail after midnight. Present a))pearances authorized 
such a ])recaution. He thought it probable they woidd 
make land that very night ; he ordered, therefore, a vigi- 
lant look-out to he kept from the forecastle, promising to 
whomsoever should make the discovery, a doublet of 
velvet, in addition to the pension to be given by the 
sovereigns. 

The breeze had been fresh all day, with more sea 
than usual, and they had made great progress. At sun- 
set they had stood again to the west, and were ploughing 
the waves at a rapid rate, the Pinta keeping the lead, from 
her superior sailing. The greatest animation prevailed 
throughout the ships ; not an eye was closed that night. 
As the evening darkened, Columbus took his station on 
the top of the castle or cabin on the high poop of his 
vessel, ranging his eye along the dusky horizon, and 
maintaining an intense and unremitting watch. About 
ten o'clock, he thought lie beheld a light gliimnering at 
a great distance. l<\'aring his eager hopes might deceive 
him, he called to Pedro Gutierrez, gentleman of the 
king's l)ed-chamb(>r, and incpiired wliether he saw such 
alight; the latter replied in the allirmalive. Doubtful 
whether it might not yet be some delusion o[ tlu> fancy, 
Columbus called Rodrigo Sanchez of Segovia, and made 
the same inquiry. By the time the latter had asceudod 
the round-house, the light had disappeared. They saw it 



COLUMBUS DISCOVERS LANlJ IN THE NEW WORLD. 25 

once or twice afterwards in sudden and passing gleams ; 
as if it were a torch in the bark of a fisherman, rising 
and sinking with the waves ; or in the hand of some 
person on shore, borne up and down as he walked from 
house to house. So transient and uncertain were these 
gleams, that few attached any importance to them ; Co- 
lumbus, however, considered them as certain signs of 
land, and, moreover, that the land was inhabited. 

They continued their course until two in the morn- 
ing, when a gun from the Pinta gave the joyful signal of 
land. It was first descried by a mariner named Rodrigo 
de Triana ; but the reward was afterwards adjudged to 
the admiral, for having previously perceived the light. 
The land was now clearly seen about two leagues dis- 
tant, whereupon they took in sail, and lay to, waiting 
impatiently for the dawn. 

The thoughts and feelings of Columbus in this little 
space of time must have been tumultuous and intense. 
At length, in spite of every difficulty and danger, he had 
accomplished his object. The great mystery of the ocean 
was revealed ; his theory, which had been the scoff of 
sages, was triumphantly established ; he had secured to 
himself a glory durable as the world itself. 

It is difficult to conceive the feelings of such a man, 
at such a moment ; or the conjectures which must have 
thronged upon his mind, as to the land before him, cov- 
ered with darkness. That it was fruitful, was evident 
from the vegetables which floated from its shores. He 
thought, too, that he perceived the fragrance of aromatic 
groves. The moving light he had beheld proved it the 
residence of man. But what were its inhabitants ? Were 
they like those of the other parts of the globe ; or were 
they some strange and monstrous race, such as the ima- 
gination was prone in those times to give to all remote 

2 



# 



26 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

and unknoAvii regions ? Had he come upon some wild 
island far in the Indian sea ; or was this the famed 
Cipango itself, the object of his golden fancies ? A thou- 
sand speculations of the kind must have swarmed upon 
him, as, with his anxious crews, he waited for the night 
to pass away ; wondering whether the morning light 
would reveal a savage wilderness, or dawn upon spicy 
groves, and glittering fanes, and gilded cities, and all the 
splendor of oriental civilization. 



First Landing of Columbus in the Neio World. 

It was on Friday morning, the 12th of October, that 
Columbus first beheld the New World. As the day 
dawned he saw before him a level island, several leagues 
in extent, and covered with trees like a continual orchard. 
Though apparently uncultivated, it was populous, for the 
inhabitants were seen issuing from all parts of the woods 
and running to the shore. They were perfectly naked, 
and, as they stood gazing at the ships, appeared by their 
attitudes and gestures to be lost in astonishment. Co- 
lumbus made signal for the ships to cast anchor, and the 
boats to be manned and armed. He entered his own 
boat, richly attired in scarlet, and holding the royal 
standard ; whilst Martin Alonzo Pinzon, and Vincent 
Jaiiez his brother, put off in company in their l)oats, each 
with a banner of the enterprise emblazoned with a green 
cross, having on either side the letters F. and Y., the 
initials of the Castilian monarchs Fernando and Ysabel, 
surmounted by crowns. 

As he approached the shore, Columbus, who was dis- 



LANDING OF C0LUM1UI8 IN THE NEW WORLD. 27 

posed for all kinds of agn3cal)lo iinprcssious, was delighted 
with the purity and suavity of the atmosphere, tlie crystal 
transparency of the sea, and the extraordinary beauty of 
the vegetation. He beheld, also, fruits of an unknown 
kind upon ihe trees which overhung the shores. On 
landing he threw himself on his knees, kissed the earth, 
and returned thanks to God with tears of joy. His ex- 
ample was followed by the rest, whose hearts indeed 
overflowed with the same feelings of gratitude. Co- 
lumbus then rising drew his sword, displayed the royal 
standard, and assembling round him the two captains, 
with Rodrigo and de Escobedo, notary of the armament, 
Rodrigo Sanchez, and the rest who had landed, he took 
solemn possession in the name of the (Jastilian sovereigns, 
giving the island the name of San Salvador. Having 
complied with the requisite forms and ceremonies, he 
called upon all present to take the oath of obedience to 
him, as admiral and viceroy, representing the persons of 
the sovereigns. 

The feelings of the crew now burst forth in the most 
extravagant transports. They had recently considered 
themselves devoted men, hurrying forward to destruc- 
tion ; they now looked upon themselves as favorites of 
fortune, and gave themselves up to the most unbounded 
joy. They thronged around the admiral with overtlow- 
ing zeal, some embracing him, others kissing his hands. 
Those who had been most mutinous and turbulent dur- 
ing the voyage, were now most devoted and enthusiastic. 
Some begged favors of him, as if he had already wealth 
and honors in his gift. Many abject spirits, who had 
outraged him by their insolence, now crouched at his 
feet, begging pardon for all the trouble they had caused 
him, and promising the blindest obedience for the future. 

The natives of the island, when, at the dawn of day. 



28 PHK CRAYON KICAPING BOOK. 

they had bohekl the ships hovering on their coast, had 
snpposed them monsters which had issued from the deep 
during the niglit. They had crowded to the beach, and 
watched tlieir movements with awful anxiety. Their 
veering about, apparently without elfort, and the shifting 
and furling of their sails, resembling huge wings, lilled 
tliem with astonishment. AVhen tliey beheld their boats 
approach the shore, and a number of strange beings clad 
in glittering steel, or raiment of various colors, lauding 
upon the beach, they tied in allVight to the woods. Find- 
ing, however, that there was no attempt to pursue nor mo- 
lest them, they gradually recovered from their terror, and 
approached the Spaniards with great awe ; frequently 
prostrating themselves on the earth, and making signs of 
adoration. During the ceremonies of taking possession, 
they remained gazing in timid admiration at the com- 
plexion, the beards, the shining armor, and splendid dress 
of the Spaniards. The admiral particularly attracted 
their attention, from his couuuandiug height, his air of 
authority, his dress of scarlet, and the deference which 
was paid him by his companions ; all which pointed him 
out to be the conuuander. When they had still further 
recovered from their fears, they approached the Span- 
iards, touched their beards, and examined their hands 
and faces, admiring their whiteness. Columbus was 
pleased with their gentleness and confiding simplicity, 
and sulfered their scrutiny with perfect acquiescence, 
winning them by his benignity. They now supposed 
that the ships had sailed out of the crystal firmament 
which bounded their horizon, or had descended from 
above on their ample wings, and that these marvellous 
beings were inhabitants of the skies. 

The idea that the white men came from heaven was 
universally entertained bv the inhabitants of the New 



RKOKPTION or OOLIIMItdS AT HAIUJKT.ONA. 29 

World. When in llio roiirso of suhsoqiionl voyages the 
Sj);uiiards couvcr.scMl vvitli the cacique Nicaragua, h(; in- 
(luin'd liow they came down from the skies, whether fly- 
ing or wh(^ther th(y descended on clouds. 



Reception of Columbus by Iha Spanish Court at Bar- 
celona,. 

TiTE letter of Columhus to the Spanish monarchs, 
had jiroduced the greatest sensation at court. The event 
li(> announced was considenul the most extraordinary of 
their prosperous reign, and following so close upon the 
con(iuest of Granada, was pronounced a signal mark of 
divine favor for that triumph achieved in the cause of 
the true faith. The sovereigns themselves were for a 
time dazzled hy this sudden and easy actpiisition of a 
new empire, of indefinite extent, and apparently bound- 
less wealth ; and their first idea was to secure it beyond 
the reach of dis])ute. Shortly after his arrival in Seville, 
Columbus received a letter from them expressing their 
great delight, and recjuesting him to repair immediately 
to coiut, to conceit plans for a second and more extensive 
expedition. As the summer, the time favorable for a 
voyage, was approaching, they desired him to mak(! any 
arrangerufmts at Sovilh; or (ilsewhen? that iriight hasten 
the expedition, and to inform tliein, ])y the return of tin; 
courieT, what was to Ix; doni! on their part. This letter 
was addressed to him by the title of "Don ('hristoj)li(!r 
Columbus, oiu" admiral of the ocean sea, and viceroy and 
governor of the islands discovtired in the Indies;" at the 
same time he was promised still further rewards. Co- 



30 THE CKAYON READING BOOK. 

Innilnis lost no time in complying with the commands of 
the soveioigns. He sent a memorandnm of the ships, 
men, and mnnitions requisite, and having made such 
dispositions at Seville as circumstances permitted, set out 
for Barcelona, taking with him the six Indians, and the 
various curiosities and productions brought from the New 
World. 

The fame of his discovery had resounded throughout 
the nation, and as his route lay through several of the 
finest and most populous provinces of Spain, his journey 
appeared like the progress of a sovereign. Wherever he 
passed, the country poured forth its inhabitants, who 
lined the road and thronged the villages. The streets, 
windows, and balconies of the towns were filled with 
eager spectators, who rent the air with acclamations. 
His journey was continually impeded by the multitude 
pressing to gain a sight of him and of the Indians, who 
were regarded with as much astonishment as if they had 
been natives of another planet. It was impossible to sa- 
tisfy the craving curiosity which assailed him and his 
attendants at every stage Avith innumerable questions ; 
popular rumor, as usual, had exaggerated the trutli, and 
had filled the newly-found country with all kinds of 
wonders. 

About the middle of April Columbus arrived at Bar- 
celona, where every preparation had been made to give 
him a solemn and magnificent reception. The beauty 
and serenity of the weather in that genial season and fa- 
vored climate, contributed to give splendor to this mem- 
orable ceremony. As he drew near the place, many of 
the youthful courtiers, and hidalgos, together Avith a vast 
concourse of the populace, came forth to meet and wel- 
come him. His entrance into this noble city has been 
compared to one of those triumphs Avhich the Romans 



KECErTION OF COLIJMBdS AT BARCELONA. 31 

were accvistonied to decree to conquerors. J'^'ijst, were 
paraded the Indians, painted according to their savage 
fasliion, and decorated with their national ornaments of 
gold. After these were home various kinds of live par- 
rots, together with stuffed birds and animals of unknown 
species, and rare plants supposed to be of precious quali- 
ties ; while great care was taken to make a conspicuous 
display of Indian coronets, bracelets, and other decora- 
tions of gold, which might give an idea of the wealth of 
the newly-discovered regions. After this, followed Co- 
lumbus on horseback, suirounded by a brilliant caval- 
cade of Spanish chivalry. The streets were almost im- 
passable from the countless multitude ; the windows and 
balconies were crowded with the fair ; the very roofs 
were covered with spectators. It seemed as if the public 
eye could not be sated with gazing on these trophies of 
an unknown world ; or on the remarkable man by whom 
it had been discovered. There was a sublimity in this 
event that mingled a solemn feeling with the public 
joy. It was looked upon as a vast and signal dispensa- 
tion of Providence, in reward for the piety of the mon- 
archs ; and the majestic and venerable appearance of the 
discoverer, so different from the youth and buoyancy 
generally expected from roving enterprise, seemed in har- 
mony with the grandeiir and dignity of his achievement. 
To receive him with suitable pomp and distinction, 
the sovereigns had ordered their throne to be placed in 
pul)lic under a rich canopy of brocade oi' gold, in a vast 
and splendid saloon. Here the king and queen awaited 
his arrival, seated in state, with the prince Juan beside 
them, and attended by the dignitaries of their court, and 
the principal nobility of Castile, Valentia, Catalonia, and 
Arragon, all impatient to behold the man who had con- 
ferred so incalculable a benefit upon the nation. At 



32 THE CRAYON UKAniNC} HOOK. 

length Columbus ontcnnl llu^ hall, suiroiiiulfd by ;i bril- 
liant crowd of cavaliers, among wiiom, says Las Casas, 
he was conspicuous for his stntcly and commanding per- 
son, which with his countenance, rendered venerable by 
his gray hairs, gave him the august appearance of a 
senator of Home : a modest smile lighted up his features, 
showing that lu^ enjoyed the state and glory in which he 
came; and ctMtainly nothing could be more deeply 
moving to a mind inllamed by noble ambition, and con- 
scious of having greatly deserved, than these testimonials 
of the admiration anil gratitude of a nation, or rather of 
a world. As Cohnnbus apprmiched, the sov(Mcigns rose, 
as if receiving a person of the highest raidc. Bending his 
knees, he offered to kiss their hands; l)nt there was some 
hesitation on their part to permit this act of homage. 
Raising him in the most gracious manner, they ordered 
him to seat hiins(>lf in their presence; a rare honor in 
this i)roud and i>unctilious court. 

At their request, he now gave an account of the nu^st 
striking events of his voyage, and a di^scription of the 
islands discovered. He ilisj)layed specimens of unknown 
birds, and other animals; of rare plants t)f nunhcinal antl 
aromatic virtues; of native gold in dust, in crude masses, 
or labonnl into barbaric ornaments; and, nlnne all, the 
natives of these couutrii^s, who were objects of intense 
and iui'xhaustible intiMcst. All these he pronounced 
mere harbingers of greater discoveries yet to be made, 
which would add realms of incalculable wealth to the 
dominions of their majesties, and whole nations oi' pro- 
si'lylcs to the true faith. 

WluMi he had linished, the sovereigns sank on their 
knees, and raising their clasped hands to heaven, their 
eyes tilled with tears of joy and gratitude, poured forth 
thanks and jMaises to God for so great a providiMice : all 



HKCKmON OF florjIMHUS y\r IiARf;r,I-ONA 33 

present IoHowcmI iJuiir exiunplc; u deep iuid solemn 
enthusiasm pervaded tfmt splendid ass(!rnbly, and prc- 
vent(Hl all (M)mm()n acclamations of Irimnpli. Tlio 
.•iiilliein 7V; Dfiirii, bmdnnms^ (^liantin] hy tli(! choir oi' the 
royal chapel, with \\w, ac<'ompa.niment of instruments, 
rose in a I'lill body ol" sacred harmony; hearing nj), as it 
were, the feelings and thoughts of (Ik; aufhtors to h(iav(in, 
"so thai," says the; venerable Las (Jasas, " it scenied as 
if m that hour they comnnmicated with (-elestial delights." 
tSuch was the solemn and pious manner in whicli the 
brilliant court of Spain celebrated this sublime event; 
oflering up a grateful tribute; of melody and praises, and 
giving glory to (jJod for the discovery of another world. 

When (Jolund)us rctircid from the royal presence, he 
was attended to his residence by all the court, and fol- 
lowed by the shouting populace;. For many days ho 
was the ol)ject of universal curiosity, and wherever he 
appear(;d, was surrounded by an admiring multitude. 

While his mind was teeming with glorious anticipa- 
tions, his pious sch(!m(! for the deliverance of the holy 
sepulchre was not forgottcrr. It l)as been shown that he 
suggested it to the Spanish sovereigns at the time of first 
making his prof)osili()ns, holding it forth as the great 
object to be ellect(;d by the [)rolils of his (hscoverics. 
Flushed with the idea of ihe vast wealth now to accrue 
to himself, Ik; made; a vow to fmiiish within seven y<!ars 
an airny, consisting of four thousand horsr;, and fifty 
thousand foot, for the rescue of the holy sepulchre!, and a 
similar force within the five following y(!ars. This vow 
was recordeid in one of his l(;tters to the sovereigns, to 
which he refcMs, but whieJi is no longer extant; nor is it 
certain wh(;ther it was ma.de at the end of his first voy- 
age, or at a subs(;(juent datf;, when the; magnitude; and 
w(;althy result of his discoveries becam*; more fully man- 

2* 



34 THK OK AVON UKAlMNr. ROOK. 

ifesf. llo olhMi ;illu(l»^s \o it vau,U(>Iy in his w riliiigs, and 
he ivlris to it (>xjnvssly ill a IclttM- lo Pope Alexander VI,, 
writtiMi in l.'iO'^, in wliieli lie aeeoinits also for its nou- 
I'liliiliiuMit. It is essential to a tnll comprehension of the 
eliaraet(M- and motives of (\ihimhus, tliat this visit^iary 
pi-ojeet shonld he home in v»H-oll(H'tion. 1 1 will he fi>und 
to have entwined itsell" in his miiul with his enterprise 
of discovery, and that a holy crnsaile was to he the 
consummation of tiiose divine purposes, for wiiich he 
considered himself selected hy Heaven as an ai;enl. It 
shows how much his mind was elevatcnl ahovt^ selfish 
and nuMcenary views— how it was tilled with those 
devout and heroic sciieines, which in the tiini> ol the 
criisadivs liad intlam(>d tlu^ thoughts and (iinH-t(>d the 
(Mitcrprises of the hravest warriors and most illustrious 
princes. 



Coliiffihiis ill Irons. 



San DoivtiNOO now swarmeil with miscreants just 
delivered from the dungeon and the iiihhet. It was a 
])erfect jubilee of triumphant villany and dastard malice. 
Kvery base spirit, which had been awed intt^ ohsi\|uions- 
ness by Cohimbus and his brothers when in [huvcm-, now 
started up to revenge Itself upon them when in t'hains. 
The most injiu'ions slanders wimc loudly jiroclaimed in 
the streets ; insulting pas(|uinades ami inllammatt>vy li- 
bels were ]iosted up at every corner; ami horns were 
blown in the neighborhood of their prisons, to tatmt tluMii 
with the cxultings of the rabble. AVhen these n^joii-ings 
of liis enemies reached him in his dnuQcon, and t'ohiin- 



f.'OI.IIMHnS IN IKDNN. 35 

hiis rcdccjcd on llic incoiisidcralc violence ;ili(';i(ly cxliih 
itcd l»y |{()l);i(lill;i, Ik- I<iicw iioI Iiovv I'jir his r;iNliiic.ss ;ui(l 
(•oiirKlciici' iiii^lil ("iiry liiiii, ;iri(l hc.^.-iri (o ciilcrlaiii ;i|)- 
prcliciisioiis lor liis liCc 

Tlic v<\ss<'ls hciii^ rc.-uly lo iii;il<(! sail, Aloii/o dc Vil- 
Icjo was M|)))oiiil(!d to lak(^ c.liar^c! of llir-, prisoners, uiid 
carry iJicni lo Spain. This oliic.cr hud hern hron^hl. iijj 
hy an Mn(d(! of l''ons('<'a, was in thr employ of Ihal. hislioj), 
and had VAnwc. onl vvilh liohaililla. The la.lt(M° inslrueUtd 
him, on arriving at Cadiz, (o deliver his prisom^rs in(o IIk! 
hands ol' l'V)ns(!ea., or of his nnele, Ihinkini^ (lieichy lo 
i^ive IIk; mali|.^nanl piclale a lriinn|tha,nl ^ratilicalion. 
'I'his einimristaiKM! gav(? W(;ighl, wilh many lo a. i-epoil 
Ihal IJohadilla was s(!erelly i(istigale(J and enc.oniaged iii 
his violeni ni»!asiires hy l''ons(!(;a, and was promiscMJ his 
proleelion and inllnenei- al coiul, ill case of any com- 
plaints of his condnci. 

Villejo nnderlook the ollice assitfiied him, \)[\t he dis- 
chai'}^ed il in a niorf! gcnerons maniK^r ihan was inlend<;d. 
"'IMn's Aloti'/o de Villejo," says lh(! worthy I iiis (.'asas, 
" was a, hidali/o of lionorahle character, and my particu- 
lar iViend." lie certainly showed himself snperi<ir lo the 
low inalij^nity of his patrons. When he arrived with a 
Lfiiard to condnci tlxr admiral from the jjiison lo the shij), 
he found him in chains in a, stale; of sih-nt despondency. 
iSr) violently had Ik; h<!en treated, and so sava^^c; were lln; 
passi<»ns let, loose a|,Minsl. him, thai he f(!ared Ik; slionid 
]>■• sacrificed withoni an opporlnnily of l)eing lieajd, and 
his nani(! |^o down snilied and dishonored to j)ost(!rit.y. 
Whin he helield the otlicer enter with lint guard, he 
llion'_'ht it was to couduci him to the scallold. " Villejo," 
said he, mom'id'nily, "whither are yon taking me?" "To 
the ship, your Ivxcellency, lo emhark," repli<;d the oIIkm-. 
"Toemhark !" rejtealcd the admiral, earnestly ; "Villejo! 



36 rHK CRAYON KEAIUNG BOOK. 

do you spoiik llu> tiiith /'' "" IJy the lifo of your Excol- 
Icuoy," ivpliiHl tlu> liourst oIliciM-, ''it is true!" With 
these words tlie admiral was couiloited, and t'eU as one 
restored tVoui d«\Uli to Ul'e. Nothing can be more tourhiui; 
and exjMvssivi' than tliis Utile colloquy, roeordtHl by the 
venerable Las (\isas, who iloubtless had it iVoni the lips 
of his tVicMid Villejo. 

The earavids set sail early in October, bearing oil" 
Cohnnbus shackled like the vilest of culprits, amidst the 
scolfs and shouts of a miscreant rabble, wlio took a bru- 
tal joy in heaping insults on his venerable head, and sent 
curses alter him tViMU the shores of the island he had so 
recently adileil \o the civilized world. Fortiniately the 
voyage was favorabUv and of but moderate duration, and 
was rendered less tlisagreeable by the conduct of those 
to whom he w^as given in custoily. The w^orthy Villejo, 
though in the service of Fonseca, felt deeply moved at 
the treatment of Columbus. The master of the Caravel, 
Andreas Martin, was equally grieved : they both treated 
the admiral with profomul respect and assiduous atten- 
tion. Tiiey wouUl have taken otf his irons, but to this 
lie would not consent. "No," said he proudly, "their 
majesties conunanded me by letter to submit to whatever 
Bobadilla should order in their name ; by their authority 
he has put upon me these chains, I will wear them until 
they shall order them to be taken otf, and I will preserve 
them atUMwartls as ndics and memorials oi' the rewaril 
of my siMvii-es." 

"He did so," adds his son l"\Mnandi>; "1 saw them 
always hanging in his cabinet, and he retpiested that 
when he died thev miiiht be buri(Ml with him!" 



COLUMUUS IN IRONS. 37 



Sensation in Spain on l.hv Arriva/ of Col.irinJms in. 
Irons. — His Appearance al. (Jonrt. 

'Vwv. .'urival of Coliirnhiis al. (/.-idiz, a prisoner in 
chains, prodncod almost as gn;al: a sciiisatioii as liis Iri- 
niiipliant return from his fnst V()yafi;o. It was oik^ of 
thosf! slrikiiiij; .'ititl ohvious facts, which speak to iho 
f(M^iings of tli(! nj(iltitnd(!, and pnicludo th(3 necessity of 
reflection. No one; stoi)p(!d to in(|uire into the c,is(!. It 
w;is sufiiciciil to he told thnt ('ohimhns was hroui^ht 
liotne in irons from (hi^ world he iiad (iisc.ov(M"(;d. Thert^ 
was a general hurst of iii(h"!i;u;itiou iu ('.uh/, ;iud iu \\\r. 
pow(!rfid iuid opui<'ut Seville, wiiich was ('(^hoed through- 
out all Spain. II' the ruin of ( !oluud)Us had he<!n llu^ in- 
tention of his eucuiics, they had dcfcalf^d their ohject hy 
their own vioh'ucc. ()nf!of those reactious look place, 
so fr(MjU(!ut iu th(! |)id)lic ruiud, when perseculion is 
juisIkmI to ;ui unguarded length. Those of the |)oj)td;ic(^ 
who had n!(-(nitly Ihm'u loud in thrur cl;uuor ;igainst (>)- 
hunhus, W(!r(! now as loud in tlieir rej)rohation of his 
treatment, and a strong sympathy was expressed, against 
which it would havf; htu'ri odious for tlie goverinrieut to 
coutfwid. 

The tidings of his ;iriival, and of the ignominious 
manner in which he; had Imhui hrought, reached the; court 
at (jranada, and M\v,(\ the halls of tin; Alhamhra with 
irnuinurs of astonishmcnit. (yolumhus, full of his wrongs, 
hut ignorant liow far they h;ul h(!(!n :i.uthoriz(!d hy the; 
sovereigns, had forhorne to write to tlniui. In IIk; course; 
of his voy;ig(!, howev(!r, lie had jx'uued ii, long lettxT to 
l)on;i, Ju.-uia de la Torre, the; aya of Prince Ju:in, a, l;idy 
high in favor with Q,ucen Isabella. This l«;lter, on his 



38 THE CKAYON RKAUIXr. HOOK. 

arrival at Cadiz, Andreas Martin, iho captain ot' the cara- 
vel, permitted him to send oU' privately by express. It 
arrived, theretbre, before the protocol of the proceedings 
instituted by 13obadilla, and from this document the 
sovereigns derived their fn-st intimation of iiis treatment. 
It contained a statement of the late transactions of the 
island, and oi' the wrongs he had sutfered, written w itli 
his usual artlessness and energy. To specify the con- 
tents, would be but to recapitulate circumstances ah'cady 
recorded. Some expressions, however, which burst from 
him in the warmth of his feelings, are worthy of being 
noted. " The slanders of worthless men," says he, " have 
done me more injury than all my services have profited 
me." Spoaking of the misrejireseutations to. which he 
was subjected, he observes: "Such is tlie evil name 
which I have acquired, that if I were to build hospitals 
and churches, they would be called dens of robbers." 
After relating in indignant terms the conduct of Boba- 
dilla. in seeking testimony respecting his administration 
from the very men who had rebelled against him, and 
throwing himself and his brothers in irons, without let- 
ting them know the otiences with which they were 
charged, " I have been much aggrieved," he adds, " in 
that a person should be sent out to investigate my con- 
duct, who knew that if the evidence which he could send 
lunue should appear to be of a serious nature, he would 
remain in the government." He comi)lains that, in form- 
ing an opinion of his administration, allowances had not 
been made for the extraordinary dilheulties with which 
he had to contend, and the wild state of tlie country over 
which he had to rule. "I was judged," he observes, "as 
a governor who liad b^^en sent to take charge of a well- 
regulated city, under the dominion of well-establislied 
laws, where there was no danger of every thing running 



COLUMBUS AT COURT. 39 

to disorder and ruin ; but I ought to be judged as a cap- 
tain, sent to subdue a numerous and hostile people, of 
manners and reUgion opposite to ours, Hving not in regu- 
hir towns, but in forests and mountains. It ought to be 
considered that 1 have brought all these under subjection 
to their majesties, giving them dominion over another 
world, by which Spain, heretofore poor, has suddenly- 
become rich. Whatever errors I may have fallen into, 
they wore not with an evil intention ; and I believe their 
majesties will credit what 1 say. I have known them to 
be merciful to those who have wilfully done them dis- 
service ; I am convinced that they will have still more 
indulgence for me, who have erred innocently, or by 
compulsion, as they will hereafter be more fully in- 
formed ; and I trust they will consider my great services, 
the advantages of which are every day more and more 
apparent.'* 

When this letter was read to the noble-minded Isa- 
bella, and she found how grossly Columbus had been 
wronged and the royal authority abused, her heart was 
filled with mingled sympathy and indignation. The 
tidings were confirmed by a letter from the alcalde or 
corregidor of Cadiz, into whose hands Columbus and his 
brothers had been delivered, until the pleasure of the 
sovereigns should be known ; and by another letter from 
Alonzo de Vilk^jo, expressed in terms accordant with his 
humane and honorable conduct towards his illustrious 
prisoner. 

However Ferdinand might have secretly felt disposed 
against Cohnnbus, the momentary tide of public feeling 
was not to be resisted. IFc joined with his generous 
queen in her reprobation of the treatment of the admiral, 
and both sovereigns hastened to give evidence to the 
world, that his imprisonment had been without their 



40 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

authority, and contrary to their wishes. Without wait- 
ing to receive any documents that might arrive from 
Bobadilla, tliey sent orders to Cadiz that the prisoners 
should be instantly set at liberty, and treated with all 
distinction. They wrote a letter to Columbus, couched 
in terms of gratitude and aHection, expressing their grief 
at all that he had suti'ered, and inviting him to court. 
They ordered, at the same time, that two thousand 
ducats should be advanced to defray his expenses.* 

The loyal heart of Columbus was again cheered by 
this declaration of his sovereigns. lie felt conscious of 
his integrity, and anticipated an innnediate restitution of 
all his rights and dignities. He appeared at court in 
Gra^-ada on the 17th of December, not as a man ruined 
and disgraced, but richly dressed, and attended by an 
honorable retinue. He was received by the sovereigns 
with unqualified favor and distinction. When the queen 
beheld this venerable man approach, and thought on all 
he had deserved and all he had suffered, she was moved 
to tears. Cohnnbus had borne up firmly against the rude 
conflicts of the world, — he had endured with lofty scorn 
the injuries and insults of ignoble men; but he possessed 
strong and quick sensibility. When he fomid himself 
thus kindly received by his sovereigns, and beheld tears 
in the benign eyes of Isabella, his long-suppressed feel- 
ings burst forth : he threw himself on his knees, and for 
some time could not utter a word for the violence of his 
tears and sobbings. 

Ferdinand and Isabella raised him from the ground, 
and endeavored to encourage him by the most gracious 



* Two thousand diicnts. or two tluniaand eight hundred nnd forty-six 
doUarss, eijuivalont to eight thousand five hundred nnd thirty-eight dollars 
of the present day. 



THE SECOND V0YA(;E OF COIJIMIiUS. 41 

expressions. As soon as lie regained self-possession, ho 
entered into an eloquent and high-niindcHi vindication oi* 
his loyalty, and the ztjal he had ever lelt for the glory 
and advantage of the Spanish crown, d(xlaiing that if at 
any time he had erred, it had been through irK^xperience 
in government, and the extraordinary (liHic.ulli(>s by 
which he had been surrounded. 

There needed no vindication on liis j)art. 'rh(> in- 
t(;mperance of his enemies had becMi his bc^st ;i(]vo(';il(\ 
lie stood in presence of his sov(^reigns a de(![)ly-injured 
man, and it remained for them to vindicate themselves to 
the world from the charge of ingratitude towards their 
most deserving subject. 



Deparhire of Columlms on his ^Second Voyage — Dis- 
covery of lite Caribbee hlands. 

The departure of Columbus on his second voyage of 
discovery, presented a brilliant contrast to his gloomy 
embarkation at Palos. On the 25th of September, at the 
dawn of day, the bay of Cadiz was whitened by his 
fleet. There were three large ships of lieavy burden,* 
and fourteen caravels, loitering with flapping sails, and 
awaiting the signal to get under way. The harbor 
resounded with the w(;]l-known note of the sailor, hoist- 
ing sail, or weighing an(;hor ; a motley crowd were 

* Peter Martyr Bays they were carracka (a large species of merchant 
vessel, principally used in coasting trade), of one hundred tons hurden, and 
that two of the caravels were much larger than the rest, and more capable 
of bearing decks from the size of their masts. 



42 THE CRAYON READING HOOK. 

hurrying on board, and taking leave of their friends in 
the confidence of a prosperous voyage and triumphant 
return. There was the high-spirited cavaher, bound on 
romantic enterprise ; the hardy navigator, ambitious of 
acquiring laurels in these unknown seas ; the roving 
adventurer, seeking novelty and excitement ; the keen, 
calculating speculator, eager to profit by the ignorance 
of savage tribes ; and the pale missionary from the clois- 
ter, anxious to extend the dominion of the church, or 
devoutly zealous for the propagation of the faith. All 
were full of animation and lively hope. Instead of being 
regarded by the populace as devoted men, bound upon a 
dark and desperate enterprise, they were contemplated 
with envy, as favored mortals, bound to golden regions 
and happy climes, where nothing but wealth, and won- 
der, and delights awaited them. Columbus, conspicuous 
for his height and his commanding appearance, was 
attended by his two sons Diego and Fernando, the eldest 
but a stripling, who had come to witness his departure, 
both proud of the glory of their father. Wherever he 
passed, every eye followed him with admiration, and 
every tongue praised and blessed him. Before sunrise 
the whole fleet was under way ; the weather was serene 
and propitious, and as the populace watched their parting 
sails brightening in the morning beams, they looked for- 
ward to their joyful return laden with the treasures of 
the New World. 



DISCOVERY OF THE AIINES OF HAYNA. 



Discovery of the Mines of Hayna. 

In the recent hurricane, the four caravels of Aguado 
had been destroyed, together with two others which were 
in the harbor. Tlie only vessel which survived was the 
Nina, and that in a very shattered condition. Columbus 
gave orders to have her immediately repaired, and another 
caravel constructed out of the wreck of those whicli had 
been destroyed. While waiting until they should be 
ready for sea, he was cheered by tidings of rich mines in 
the interior of the island, the discovery of which is attrib- 
uted to an incident of a somewhat romantic nature. A 
young Arragonian, named Miguel Diaz, in the service of 
the Adelantado, having a quarrel with another Spaniard, 
fought with him, and. wounded him dangerously. Fear- 
ful of the consequences, he fled from the settlement, 
accompanied by five or six comrades, who had either 
been engaged in the affray, or were personally attached 
to him. Wandering about the island, they came to an 
Indian village on the southern coast, near the mouth of 
the river Ozema, where the city of San Domingo is at 
present situated. They were received with kindness by 
the natives, and resided for some time among them. 
The village was governed by a female cacique, who soon 
conceived a strong attachment for the young Arragonian. 
Diaz was not insensible to her tenderness, a connection 
was formed between them, and they lived for some time 
very happily together. 

The recollection of his country and his friends began 
at length to steal upon the thoughts of the young Span- 
iard. It was a melancholy lot to be exiled from civilized 



44 THE CRAYON HEADING BOOK 

life, and an outcast from among his countrymen. He 
longed to return to the settlement, but dreaded the pun- 
ishment that awaited him, from the austere justice of the 
Adolantado. His Indian bride, observing him frequently 
melancholy and lost in thought, penetrated the cause, 
with the quick intelligence of female affection. Fearful 
tliat he would abandon her, and return to his country- 
men, she endeavored to devise some means of drawing 
the Spaniards to that part of the island. Knowing that 
gold was their sovereign attraction, she informed Diaz of 
certain rich mines in the neighborhood, and urged him 
to persuade his countrymen to abandon the comparatively 
sterile and unhealthy vicinity of Isabella, and settle upon 
the fertile banks of the Ozema ; promising they should 
be received with the utmost kindness and hospitality by 
her nation. 

Struck with the suggestion, Diaz made particular in- 
quiries about the mines, and was convinced that they 
abounded in gold. He noticed the superior fruitfulness 
and beauty of the country, the excellence of the river, 
and the security of the harbor at its entrance. He flat- 
tered himself that the communication of such valuable 
intelligence would make his peace at Isabella, and obtain 
his pardon from the Adelantado. Full of these hopes, 
he procured guides from among the natives, and taking a 
temporary leave of his Indian bride, set out with his 
comrades through the wilderness for the settlement, 
wliich was about fifty leagues distant. Arriving there 
secretly, he learnt, to his great joy, that the man whom 
lie had wounded had recovered. He now presented him- 
self boldly before the Adelantado, relying that his tidings 
would earn his forgiveness. He was not mistaken. No 
news could have come more opportunely. The admiral 
had been anxious to remove the settlement to a more 



DISCOVERY OP THK MINKS OF HAYNA. 45 

hcaltliy and advantageous situation. He was desirous 
also of carrying home some conclusive proof of the riches 
of the island, as the most effectual means of silencing the 
cavils of his ene«iies. If the representations of Miguel 
Diaz were correct, here was a means of eflecting both 
these purposes. Measures were immediately taken to 
ascertain the truth. The Adelantado set fortli in person 
to visit the river Ozcma, accompanied by Miguel Diaz, 
Francisco de Garay, and the Indian guides, and attended 
hy a mnnber of men well armed. They proceeded from 
Isabella to Magdalena, and thence across the Royal Vega 
to the fortress of Conception. Continuing on to the south, 
they came to a range of mountains, which they traversed 
by a defile two leagues in length, and descended into 
another beautiful plain, which was called Bonao, Pro- 
ceeding hence for some distance, they came to a great 
river called Hayna, running through a fertile country, all 
the streams of which abounded in gold. On the western 
bank of this river, and about eight leagues from its mouth, 
they found gold in greater quantities and in larger par- 
ticles, than had yet been met with in any part of the 
island, not even excepting the province of Cibao. They 
made experiments in various places within the compass 
of six miles, and always with success. The soil seemed 
to be generally impregnated with that metal, so that a 
common laborer, with little trouble, might find the amount 
of three drachms in the course of a day. In several 
places they observed deep excavations in the form of pits, 
which looked as if the mines had been worked in ancient 
times ; a circumstance which caused much speculation 
among the Spaniards, the natives having no idea of min- 
ing, but contenting themselves with the particles found 
on the surface of the soil, or in the beds of the rivers. 
The Indians of the neighborhood received the white 



46 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

men with their promised friendship, and in every respect 
the representations of Miguel Diaz were fully justilicd. 
He was not only pardoned, hut received into great favor, 
and was suhsequently employed in various capacities in 
the island, in all which he acquitted himself with great 
fidelity, lie kept his faith with his Indian bride, by 
whom, according to Oviedo, he had two children. Char- 
levoix supposes that they were regularly married, as the 
female cacique appears to have been baptized, being al- 
ways mentioned by the Christian name of Catalina. 

When the Adelantado returned with this favorable 
report, and with specimens of ore, the anxious heart of 
the admiral was greatly elated. He gave orders that a 
fortress should be immediately erected on the banks of 
the Hayna, in the vicinity of the mines, and that they 
should be diligently worked. The fancied traces of an- 
cient excavations gave rise to one of his usual veins of 
golden conjectures. He had already surmised that His- 
paniola might be the ancient Opliir. He now flattered 
himself that he had discovered the identical mines, 
whence King Solomon had procured his gold for the 
building of the temple of Jerusalem. He supposed that 
his ships must have sailed by the Gulf of Persia, and 
round Trapoban to this island,* which, according to his 
idea, lay o])posite to the extreme end of Asia, for such he 
firmly believed the island of Cuba. 

It is probable that Columbus gave free license to his 
imagination in these conjectures, which tended to throw 
a splendor about his enterprises, and to revive the lan- 
guishing interest of the public. Granting, however, the 
correctness of his opinion, that he was in the vicinity of 
Asia, an error by no means surprising in the imperfect 

• Peter Martyr, decad. i. lib. iv. 



II 



A GOLD MANIA IN HiaPANIOLA IN 1503. 47 

State of geographical knowledge, all his consequent sup- 
positions were far from extravagant. The ancient Ophir 
was believed to lie somewhere in the East, but its situa- 
tion was a matter of controversy among the learned, and 
remains one of those conjectural questions about which 
too much has been written for it ever to be satisfactorily 
decided. 



A Gold Mania in Hispaniola in 1503. 

Before relating the return of Columbus to Hispani- 
ola, it is proper to notice some of the principal occurrences 
which took place in that island under the government of 
Ovando. A great crowd of adventurers of various ranks 
had thronged his fleet — eager speculators, credulous 
dreamers, and broken-down gentlemen of desperate for- 
tunes ; all expecting to enrich themselves suddenly in an 
island where gold was to be picked up from tlic surface 
ol tVic soil, or gathered from the mountain-brooks. They 
had scarcely landed, says Las Casas, who accompanied 
the expedition, when they all hurried off" to the mines, 
about eight leagues distance. The roads swarmed like 
ant-hills, with adventurers of all classes. Every one had 
his knapsack stored with biscuit or flour, and his mining 
implements on his shoulders. Those hidalgos, or gentle- 
men, who had no servants to carry their burdens, bore 
them on their own backs, and lucky was he who had a 
horse for the jotu'ney ; he would be able to bring back 
the greater load of treasure. They all set out in high 
spirits, eager who should first reach the golden land ; 
thinking they had but to arrive at the mines, and collect 
riches ; " for they fancied," says Las Casas, " that gold 



48 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

was to be gathered as easily and readily as fruit from the 
trees." When they arrived, however, they discovered, to 
their dismay, that it was necessary to dig painfully into 
the bowels of the earth — a labor to which most of them 
had never been accustomed ; that it required experience 
and sagacity to detect the veins of ore ; that, in fact, the 
whole process of mining was exceedingly toilsome, de- 
manded vast patience, and much experience, and, after 
all, was full of uncertainty. They digged eagerly for a 
time, but found no ore. They grew hungry, threw by 
their implements, sat down to eat, and then returned to 
work. It was all in vain. "Their labor," says Las 
Casas, " gave them a keen appetite and quick digestion, 
but no gold." They soon consumed their provisions, 
exhausted their patience, cursed their infatuation, and in 
eight days set off drearily on their return along the roads 
they had lately trod so exultingly. They arrived at San 
Domingo without an ounce of gold, half-famished, down- 
cast, and despairing. Such is too often the case of those 
who ignorantly engage in mining — of all speculations the 
most brilliant, promising, and fallacious. 

Poverty soon fell upon these misguided men. They 
exhausted the little property brought from Spain. Many 
suflered extremely from hunger, and were obliged to ex- 
change even their apparel for bread. Some formed con- 
nections with the old settlers of the island ; but the greater 
part were like men lost and bewildered, and just awak- 
ened from a dream. The miseries of the mind, as usual, 
heightened the sufferings of the body. Some wasted 
away and died broken-hearted ; others were hurried off 
by raging fevers, so that there soon perished upwards of 
a thousand men. 



DISCOVERY OF THE PACIFIC OCEAN. 49 



Discovery of the Pacific Ocean. 

The day had scarce dawned, when Vasco Nunez and 
his followers set forth from the Indian village and began 
to climb the height. It was a severe and rugged toil for 
men so wayworn ; but they were filled with new ardor 
at the idea of the triumphant scene that was so soon to 
repay them for all their hardships. 

About ten o'clock in the morning they emerged from 
the thick forests through which they had hitherto strug- 
gled, and arrived at a lofty and airy region of the moun- 
tain. The bald summit alone remained to be ascended; 
and their guides pointed to a moderate eminence, from 
which they said the southern sea was visible. 

Upon this Vasco Nuiiez commanded his followers to 
halt, and that no man should stir from his place. Then, 
with a palpitating heart, he ascended alone the bare 
mountain-top. On reaching the summit the long-desired 
prospect burst upon his view. It was as if a new world 
were unfolded to him, separated from all hitherto known 
by this mighty barrier of mountains. Below him ex- 
tended a vast chaos of rock and forest, and green savan- 
nas and wandering streams, while at a distance the 
waters of the promised ocean glittered in the morning 
sun. 

At this glorious prospect Vasco Nuiiez sank upon his 
knees, and poured out thanks to God for being the first 
European to whom it was given to make that great dis- 
covery. He then called his people to ascend : " Behold, 
my friends," said he, "that glorious sight which we have 
so much desired. Let us give thanks to God that he has 
granted us tliis great honor and advantage. Let us 
pray to Him to guide and aid us to conquer the sea and 

3 



50 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

land which we have discovered, and which Christian has 
never entered to preach the holy doctrine of the Evan- 
gelists. As to yourselves, be as you have hitherto been, 
faithful and true to me, and by the favor of Christ you 
will become the richest Spaniards that have ever come to 
the Indies ; 3^ou will render the greatest services to your 
king that ever vassal rendered to his lord ; and you will 
have the eternal glory and advantage of all that is here 
discovered, conquered, and converted to our holy Catholic 
faith." 

The Spaniards answered this speech by embracing 
Vasco Nunez and promising to follow him to death. 
Among them was a priest, named Andres de Vara, who 
lifted up his voice and chanted Te Deiim laudamus — 
the usual anthem of Spanish discoverers. The rest, 
kneeling down, joined in the strain with pious enthu- 
siasm and tears of joy ; and never did a more sincere 
oblation rise to the Deity from a sanctified altar, than 
from that mountain summit. It was indeed one of the 
most sublime discoveries that had yet been made in the 
New World, and must have opened a boundless field of 
conjecture to the wondering Spaniards. The imagination 
delights to picture forth the splendid confusion of their 
thoughts. Was this the great Indian Ocean, studded 
with precious islands, abounding in gold, in gems, and 
spices, and bordered by the gorgeous cities and wealthy 
marts of the East ? or was it some lonely sea, locked up 
in the embraces of savage uncultivated continents, and 
never traversed by a bark, excepting the light pirogue of 
the savage ? The latter could hardly be the case, for the 
natives had told the Spaniards of golden realms, and 
populous and powerful and luxurious nations upon its 
shores. Perhaps it might be bordered by various people, 
civilized in fact, though differing from Europe in their 



DISCOVER V OF THE PACIFIC OCEAN. 51 

civilization ; wlio might have pociih'ar laws and customs 
and aits and sciences ; who migiit rorm, as it were, a 
woild of their own, intercommuning by this mighty sea, 
and carrying on connnerce between lh(;ir own islands 
and continents ; but who might exist in total ignorance 
and independence of the other hemisphere. 

Such may naturally have been the ideas suggested 
by the siglit of this unknown ocean. It was the preva- 
lent belief of the Spaniards, however, that they were the 
first Christians who liad made the discovery. Vasco 
Nunez, therefore, called upon all present to witness that 
he took possession of that sea, its islands, and surround- 
ing lands, in the name of the sovereigns of Castile, and 
the notary of the expedition made a testimonial of the 
same, to which all present, to tin; number of sixty-seven 
men, signed their names. He then caused a fair and tall 
tree to be cut down and wrought into a cross, which was 
elevated on tbe spot whence he had fust bf!h(;ld the sea. 
A mound of stones was likewise piled up to serve as a 
monument, and the names of the Castilian sovereigns 
were carved on the neighboring trees. The Indians 
beheld all the.se ceremonials and rejoicings in silent won- 
der, and, while they aided to erect the cross and \n\c xip 
the mound of stones, marvelled (!xceedingly at the mean- 
ing of these inoninnents, little thinking that they marked 
the subjugation of their land. 

The memorable event here recorded took place on the 
20th of Septemher, 1.513; so that the.Sj)am'ards had spent 
twenty days in performing the jomney from the province 
of Careta to the summit of the mountain, a distance 
which at present, it is said, does not reijuire more than 
six days' travel. Indeed the isthmus in this neighbor- 
hood is not more than eighteen leagues in breadth in its 
widest part, and in some places merely seven; but it 



52 THE CRAYON RKADING BOOK. 

consists of a ridge of extremely high and rugged moun- 
tains. When the discoverers traversed it, they had no 
route but the Indian paths, and often had to force their 
way amidst all kinds of obstacles, both from the savage 
country and its savage inhabitants^ In fact, the details 
of this narrative sufficiently account for the slowness of 
their progress, and present an array of difficulties and 
perils, which, as has been well observed, none but those 
" men of iron " could have subdued and overcome. 



Vasco Nunez on the jSho7-es of the South Sea. 

Vasco Nunez arrived on the borders of one of those 
vast bays, to which he gave the name of Saint Michael, 
it being discovered on that saint's day. The tide was 
out, the water was above half a league distant, and the 
intervening beach was covered with mud ; he seated 
himself, therefore, under the shade of the forest trees un- 
til the tide should rise. After a while, the water came 
rushing in with great impetuosity, and soon reached 
nearly to the place where the Spaniards were reposing. 
Upon this, Vasco Nuiiez rose and took a banner on which 
were painted the Virgin and child, and under them the 
arms of Castile and Leon ; then drawing his sword and 
throwing his buckler on his shoulder, he marched into 
the sea until the water reached above his knees, and 
waving his banner, exclaimed with a loud voice, " Long 
live the high and mighty monarchs Don Ferdinand and 
Donna Juana, sovereigns of Castile, of Leon, and of Ar- 
ragon, in whose name, and for the royal crown of Castile, 
I take real, and corporal, and actual possession of these 



VASCO NUNEZ ON THE SHORES OF THE SOUTH SEA. 53 

seas, and lands, and coasts, and ports, and islands of the 
south, and all thereunto annexed ; and of the kingdoms 
and provinces which do or may appertain to them, in 
whatever manner, or by whatever right or title, ancient 
or modern, in times past, present, or to come, without any 
contradiction ; and if other prince or captain. Christian 
or infidel, or of any law, sect or condition whatsoever, 
shall pretend any right to these lands and seas, I am 
ready and prepared to maintain and defend them in the 
name of the Castilian sovereigns, present and future, 
whose is the empire and dominion over these Indian 
islands, and Terra Firma, northern and southern, with 
all their seas, both at the arctic and antarctic poles, on 
either side of the equinoctial line, whether witlnn or 
without the tropics of Cancer and Capricorn, both now 
and in all times, as long as the world endures, and until 
the final day of judgment of all mankind." 

This swelling declaration and defiance being uttered 
with a loud voice, and no one appearing to dispute his 
pretensions, Vasco Nunez called upon his companions to 
bear witness of the fact of his having duly taken posses- 
sion. They all declared themselves ready to defend his 
claim to the uttermost, as became true and loyal vassals 
to the Castilian sovereigns ; and the notary having drawn 
up a document for the occasion, they subscribed it with 
their names. 

This done, they advanced to the margin of the sea, 
and stooping down tasted its waters. When they found, 
that, though severed by intervening mountains and con- 
tinents, they were salt like the seas of the north, they felt 
assured that they had indeed discovered an ocean, and 
again returned thanks to God. 

Having concluded all these ceremonies, Vasco Nunez 
drew a dagger from his girdle and cut a cross on a tree 



54 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

which grew within the water, and made two other crosses 
on two adjacent trees, in honor of tlie Three Persons of 
the Trinity, and in token of possession. His followers 
likewise cnt crosses on many of the trees of the adjacent 
forest, and lopped off branches with their swords to bear 
them away as trophies. 

Snch was the singular medley of chivalrous and reli- 
gious ceremonial, with which these Spanish adventurers 
took possession of the vast Pacific Ocean, and all its 
lands — a scene strongly characteristic of the nation and 
the age. 



Execution of Vasco Nunez. 

It was a day of gloom and horror at Ada, when 
Vasco Nuiiez and his companions were led forth to exe- 
cution. The populace were moved to tears at the un- 
happy fate of a man, whose gallant deeds had excited 
their admiration, and whose generous qualities had won 
their hearts. Most of them regarded him as the victim 
of a jealous tjaant ; and even those who thought him 
guilty saw something brave and brilliant in the very 
crime imputed to him. Such, however, was the general 
dread inspired by the severe measures of Pedrarias, that 
no one dared lift up his voice, either in murmur or re- 
monstrance. 

The public crier walked before Vasco Nunez, pro- 
claiming : '• This is the punishment inflicted by connnand 
of the king and his lieutenant, Don Pedrarias Davila, on 
this man, as a traitor and an usurper of the territories of 
the crown." 

When Vasco Nunez heard these words, he exclaimed,- 



EXECUTION OF VASCO NUNEZ 55 

indignantly, " It is fcilse ! never did such a crime enter 
my mind. I have ever served my Jung with truth and 
loyalty, and sought to augment his dominions." 

These words were of no avail in his extremity, but 
they were fully believed by the populace. 

The execution took place in the public square of 
Ada ; and we are assured by the historian Oviedo, who 
was in the colony at the time, that the cruel Pedrarias 
was a secret witness of the bloody spectacle ; which he 
contemplated from between the reeds of the wall of a 
house, about twelve paces from the scaffold ! 

Vasco Nunez was the first to sufRjr death. Having 

o 

confessed himself and partaken of the sacrament, he 
ascended the scaffold with a firm step and a calm and 
manly demeanor; and, laying his head upon the block, 
it was severed in an instant from his body. Three of his 
officers, Valdcrrabano, Botello, and Hernan Munos, were 
in like manner brought one by one to the block, and the 
day had nearly expired before the last of them was 
executed. 

One victim still remained. It was Hernando de Ar- 
guello, who had been condemned as an accomplice, for 
having written the intercepted letter. 

The ])opuiace could no longer restrain their feelings. 
They had not dared to intercede for Vasco Nunez, know- 
ing the implacable enmity of Pedrarias ; but they now 
sought the governor, and, throwing themselves at his 
feet, entreated that this man might be spared, as he had 
taken no active part in the alleged treason. The day- 
light, they said, was at an end, and it seemed as if God 
had hastened the night to prevent the execution. 

The stern heart of Pedrarias was not to be touched. 
"No," said he, "I would sooner die myself than spare 
one of them." The unfortunate Arguello was led to the 



56 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

block. The brief tropical twilight was past, and in the 
gathering gloom of the night the operations on the scaf- 
fold could not be distinguished. The multitude stood 
listening in breathless silence, until the stroke of the 
executioner told that all was accomplished. They then 
dispersed to their homes with hearts filled with grief and 
bitterness, and a night of lamentation succeeded to this 
day of horrors. 

The vengeance of Pedrarias was not satisfied with 
the death of his victim ; he confiscated his property and' 
dishonored his remains, causing his head to be placed 
upon a pole and exposed for several days in the public 
square. 

Thus perished, in his forty-second year, in the prime 
and vigor of his days and the full career of his glory, one 
of the most illustrious and deserving of Spanish discover- 
ers ; a victim to the basest and most perfidious envy. 

How vain are our most confident hopes, our brightest 
triumphs ! When Vasco Nunez from the mountains of 
Darien beheld the Southern Ocean reA^ealed to his gaze, 
he considered its unknown realms at his disposal. When 
he had launched his ships upon its waters, and his sails 
were in a manner flapping in the wind, to bear him in 
quest of the wealthy empire of Peru, he scofled at the 
prediction of the astrologer, and defied the influence of 
the stars. Behold him interrupted at the very moment 
of his departure, betrayed into the hands of his most 
invidious foe, the very enterprise that was to have 
crowned him witli glory wrested into a crime, and him- 
self hurried to a bloody and ignominious grave at the 
foot, as it were, of the mountain whence he had made 
his discovery ! His fate, like that of his renowned pre- 
decessor, Columbus, proves that it is sometimes danger- 
ous even to deserve too greatly. 



VISIT TO THE CONVENT OF RABIDA. 57 



The Author'' s Visit to the Convent of Rahida. 

We alighted at the gate where Cohimbus, when a 
poor pedestrian, a stranger in the land, asked bread and 
water for his child ! As long as the convent stands, this 
must be a spot calculated to awaken the most thrilling 
interest. The gate remains apparently in nearly the 
same state as at the time of his visit, but there is no longer 
a porter at hand to administer to the wants of the way- 
farer. The door stood wide open, and admitted us into 
a small court-yard. Thence we passed through a Gothic 
portal into the chapel, without seeing a human being. 
We then traversed two interior cloisters, equally vacant 
and silent, and bearing a look of neglect and dilapidation. 
From an open window we had a peep at what had once 
been a garden, but that had also gone to ruin ; the walls 
were broken and thrown down ; a few shrubs, and a 
scattered fig-tree or two, were all the traces of cultivation 
that remained. We passed through the long dormitories, 
but the cells wei-e shut up and abandoried ; we saw no 
living thing except a solitary cat stealing across a distant 
corridor, which fled in a panic at the unusual sight of 
strangers. At length, after patrolling nearly the whole 
of the empty building to the echo of our own footsteps, 
we came to where the door of a cell, being partly open, 
gave us the sight of a monk within, seated at a table 
writing. He rose, and received us with much civility, 
and conducted us to the superior, who was reading in an 
adjacent cell. They were both rather young men, and, 
together with a novitiate and a lay-brother, who officiated 
as cook, formed the whole conununity of the convent. 

Don Juan Fernandez communicated to them the ob- 
3* 



58 THE CKAYON READLNG BOOK. 

ject of my visit, and my desire also to inspect the archives 
of the convent, to find if there was any record of the 
sojourn of Cohmibus. They informed us that the 
archives had been entirely destroyed by the French. 
The younger monk, however, who had perused them, 
had a vague recollection of various particulars concern- 
ing the transactions of Columbus at Palos, his visit to the 
convent, and the sailing of his expedition. From all that 
he cited, however, it appeared to me that all the informa- 
tion on the subject contained in the archives had been 
extracted from Herrera and other well known authors. 
The monk was talkative and eloquent, and soon diverged 
from the subject of Columbus, to one which he considered 
of infinitely greater importance — the miraculous image 
of the Virgin possessed by their convent, and known by 
the name of '• Our Lady of La Rabida." He gave its a 
history of the wonderful way in which the image had 
been found buried in the earth, where it had lain hidden 
for ages, since the time of the conquest of Spain by the 
Moors ; the disputes between the convent and ditibrent 
places in the neighborhood for the possession of it ; the 
marvellous protection it extended to the adjacent country, 
especially in preventing all madness, either in man or 
dog, for this malady was anciently so prevalent in this 
place as to gain it the appellation of La Rabia, by which 
it was originally called ; a name which, thanks to the 
beneficent influence of the Virgin, it no longer merited 
nor retained. Such are the legends and relics with 
which every convent in Spain is enriched, Avhich are 
zealously cried up by the monks, and devoutly credited 
by the populace. 

Twice a year on the festival of our Lady of La Ra- 
bida, and on that of the patron saint of the order, the 
solitude and silence of the convent are interrupted by the 



VISIT TO THK CONVENT OF RAHIDA. 59 

intrusion of a swarming multitude, composed of the in- 
habitants of Moguor, of Iluclva, and the neighboring 
plains and mountains. The open esplanade in front of 
the edifice resembles a fair, the adjacent forest teems with 
the motley throng, and the image of our Lady of La Ra- 
bida is borne forth in triumphant procession. 

While the friar was thus, dilating upon the merits and 
renown of the image, I amused myself with those day 
dreams, or conjurings of the imagination, to which I am 
a little given. As the internal arrangements of convents 
are apt to be the same from age to age, I pictured to my- 
self this chamber as the same inhabited by the guardian, 
Juan Perez de Marchena, at the time of the visit of Co- 
lumbus. Why might not the old and ponderous table 
before me be the very one on which he displayed his 
conjectural maps, and expounded his theory of a western 
route to India? It required but another stretch of the 
imagination to assemble the little conclave around the 
table; Juan Perez the friar, Garci f'ernandez the physi- 
cian, and Martin Alonzo Pinzon the bold navigator, all 
listening with rapt attention to Columbus, or to the tale 
of some old seaman of Palos, about islands seen in the 
western parts of the ocean. 

The friars, as far as their poor means and scanty 
knowledge extended, were disposed to do every thing to 
promote the object of my visit. They sho\Vcd us all 
parts of the convent, which, however, has little to boast 
of, excepting the historical associations connected with it. 
The library was reduced to a few volumes, chiefly on 
ecclesiastical subjects, piled promiscuously in the corner 
of a vaulted chamber, and covered with dust. The 
chamber itself was curious, being the most ancient part 
of the edifice, and supposed to have formed part of a 
temple in the time of the Romans. 



60 THE CRAYON READDCG BOOK. 

We ascended to the roof of the convent to enjoy the 
extensive prospect it commands. Immediately below the 
promontory on \vhich it is situated, runs a narrow but 
tolerably deep river, called the Domingo Rubio, which 
empties itself into the Tinto. It is the opinion of Don 
Luis Fernandez Pinzon, that the ships of Columbus were 
careened and fitted out in this river, as it atlbrds better 
shelter than the Tinto, and its shores are not so shallow. 
A lonely bark of a fisherman was lying in this stream, 
and not far oS, on a sandy point, were the ruins of an 
ancient watchtower. From the roof of the convent, all 
the windings of the Odiel and the Tinto were to be seen, 
and their junction into the main stream, by which Co- 
lumbus sallied forth to sea. In fact the convent serves 
as a landmark, being, from its lofty and solitary situa- 
tion, visible for a considerable distance to vessels coming 
on the coast. On the opposits side I looked down upon 
the loneh- road, through the wood of pine trees, by which 
the zealous guardian of the convent. Fray Juan Perez, 
departed at midnight on his mule, when he sought the 
camp of Ferdinand and Isabella in the Vega of Granada, 
to plead the project of Columbus before the queen. 

Having finished our inspection of the convent, we 
prepared to depart, and were accompanied to the outward 
portal by the two friars. Our calasero brought his rat- 
tling and rickety vehicle for us to mount ; at sight of which 
one of the monks exclaimed, with a smile. "• Santa Maria! 
only to think ! A calesa before the gate of the convent 
of La Rabida !" And, indeed, so solitary and remote is 
this ancient edifice, and so simple is the mode of living 
of the people in this by-corner of Spain, that the appear- 
ance of even a sorry calesa might well cause astonish- 
ment. It is only singular that in such a by-corner the 
scheme of Columbus should have found intellisent listen- 



VISIT TO THE CONVENT OF RABIDA. 61 

ers and coadjutors, after it had been discarded, almost 
with scoffing and contempt, from learned universities and 
splendid courts. 

On our way back to the hacienda, we met Don Ra- 
fael, a younger son of Don Juan Fernandez, a fine young 
man, about twenty-one years of age, and who, his father 
informed me, was at present studying French and math- 
ematics, He was well mounted on a spirited gray horse, 
and dressed in the Andalusian style, with the little round 
hat and jacket. He sat his horse gracefully and man- 
aged him well. I was pleased with the frank and easy 
terms on which Don Juan appeared to live with his chil- 
dren. This I was inclined to think his favorite son, as I 
understood he was the only one that partook of the old 
gentleman's fondness for the chase, and that accompanied 
him in his hunting excursions. 

A dinner had been prepared for us at the hacienda, 
by the wife of the capitaz, or overseer, who, with her 
husband, seemed to be well pleased with this visit from 
Don Juan, and to be confident of receiving a pleasant 
answer from the good-humored old gentleman whenever 
they addressed him. The dinner was served up about 
two o'clock, and was a most agreeable meal. The fruits 
and wines were from the estate, and were excellent ; the 
rest of the provisions were from Moguer, for the adjacent 
village of Palos is too poor to furnish any thing. A gen- 
tle breeze from the sea played through the hall, and tem- 
pered the summer heat. Indeed I do not know when I 
have seen a more enviable spot than this country retreat 
of the Pinzons. Its situation on a breezy hill, at no great 
distance from the sea, and in a southern climate, pro- 
duces a happy temperature, neither hot in summer nor 
cold in winter. It commands a beautiful prospect, and is 
surrounded by natural luxuries. The country abounds 



62 THE CRAYON KEADIJVG liOOK. 

with game, the adjacent river affords abundant sport in 
fishing, both by day and night, and dehghtful excursions 
for those fond of saihng. During the busy seasons of 
rural hfe, and especially at the joyous period of vintage, 
the family pass some time here, accompanied by nu- 
merous guests, at which times, Don Juan assured me, 
there was no lack of amusements, both by land and 
water. 

When we had dined, and taken the siesta, or after- 
noon nap, according to the Spanish custom in summer 
time, we set out on our return to Moguer, visiting the vil- 
lage of Palos in the way. Don Gabriel had been sent in 
advance to procure the keys of the village church, and to 
apprize the curate of our wish to inspect the archives. 
The village consists principally of two streets of low 
whitewashed houses. Many of the inhabitants have 
very dark complexions, betraying a mixture of African 
blood. 

On entering the village, we repaired to the lowly 
mansion of the curate. I had hoped to find him some 
such personage as the cm-ate in Don Quixote, possessed 
of shrewdness and information in his limited sphere, and 
that I might gain some anecdotes from him concerning 
his parish, its worthies, its antiquities, and its historical 
events. Perhaps I might have done so at any other 
time, but, unfortunately, the curate was something of a 
sportsman, and had heard of some game among the 
neighboring hills. We met him just sallying forth from 
his house, and, I must confess, his appearance was pic- 
turesque. He was a short, broad, sturdy little man, and 
had doffed his cassock and broad clerical beaver, for a 
short jacket and a little round Andalusian hat ; he had 
his gun in hand, and was on the point of moimting a 
donkey which had been led forth by an ancient wither- 



VISIT TO THE CONVENT OF RABIDA. 63 

ed handmaid. Fearful of being detained from his foray, 
he accosted my companion the moment he came in sight. 
" God preserve you, Sefior Don Juan ! I have received 
your message, and have but one answer to make. The 
archives have all been destroyed. We have no trace of 
any thing you seek for — nothing— nothing. Don Rafael 
has the keys of the church. You can examine it at your 
leisure — Adios, caballero !" With these words the gal- 
liard little curate mounted his donkey, thumped his ribs 
with the butt end of his gun, and trotted off to the hills. 

In our way to the church we passed by the ruins of 
v/hat had once been a fair and spacious dwelling, greatly 
superior to the other houses of the village. This, Don 
Juan informed me, was an old family possession, but 
since they had removed from Palos it had fallen to decay 
for want of a tenant. It was probably the family resi- 
dence of Martin Alonzo or Vicente Yafiez Pinzon, in the 
time of Columbus. 

We now arrived at the Church of St. George, in the 
porch of which Columbus first proclaimed to the inhabit- 
ants of Palos the order of the sovereigns, that they should 
furnish him with ships for his great voyage of discovery. 
This edifice has lately been thoroughly repaired, and, 
being of solid mason-work, promises to stand for ages, a 
monument of the discoverers. It stands outside of the 
village, on the brow of a hill, looking along a little valley 
toward the river. The remains of a Moorish arch prove 
it to have been a mosque in former times ; just above it, 
on the crest of the hill, is the ruin of a Moorish castle. 

I paused in the porch, and endeavored to recall the 
interesting scene that had taken place there, when Co- 
lumbus, accompanied by the zealous friar Juan Perez, 
caused the public notary to read the royal order in pres- 
ence of the astonished alcaldes, regidors, and alguazils ; 



64 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

but it is difficult to conceive the consternation that must 
have been struck into so remote a Uttle community, by 
this sudden apparition of an entire stranger among them, 
bearing a command tliat they should put their persons 
and ships at his disposal, and sail with him away into 
the unknown. wilderness of the ocean. 

The interior of the church has nothing remarkable, 
excepting a wooden image of St. George vanquishing 
the Dragon, which is erected over the high altar, and is 
the admiration of the good people of Palos, who bear it 
about the streets in grand procession on the anniversary 
of the saint. This group existed in the time of Colum- 
bus, and now flourishes in renovated youth and splendor, 
having been newly painted and gilded, and the counte- 
nance of the saint rendered peculiarly blooming and 
lustrous. 

Having finished the examination of the church, we 
resumed our seats in the calesa and returned to Moguer. 
One thing only remained to fulfil the object of my pil- 
grimage. This was to visit the chapel of the Convent of 
Santa Clara. When Columbus was in danger of being 
lost in a tempest on his way home from his great voyage 
of discovery, he made a vow, that, should he be spared, 
he would watch and pray one whole night in this chap- 
el ; a vow which he doubtless fulfilled immediately after 
his arrival. 

My kind and attentive friend, Don Juan, conducted 
me to the convent. It is the wealthiest in Moguer, and 
belongs to a sisterhood of Franciscan nuns. The chapel 
is large, and ornamented with some degree of richness, 
particularly the part about the high altar, which is em- 
bellished by magnificent monuments of the brave family 
of the Puerto Carre ros, the ancient lords of Moguer, and 
renowned in Moorish warfare. The alabaster effigies of 



VISIT TO THE CONVENT OF RABIDA. 65 

distinguished warriors of that house, and of their wives 
and sisters, he side by side, with folded hands, on tombs 
immediately before the altar, while others recline in 
deep niches on either side. The niglit had closed in by 
the time I entered the church, which made the scene 
more impressive. A few votive lamps shed a dim light 
about the interior ; their beams were feebly reflected by 
the gilded work of the high altar, and the frames of the 
surrounding paintings, and rested upon the marble fig- 
ures of the warriors and dames lying in the monumental 
repose of ages. The solemn pile must have presented 
much the same appearance when the pious discoverer 
performed his vigil, kneeling before this very altar, and 
praying and watching throughout the night, and pouring 
forth heartfelt praises for having been spared to accom- 
plish his sublime discovery. 

I had now completed the main purpose of my jour- 
ney, having visited the various places connected with the 
story of Columbus. It was highly gratifying to find 
some of them so little changed though so great a space 
of time had intervened ; but in this quiet nook of Spain, 
so far removed from the main thoroughfares, the lapse 
of time produces but few violent revolutions. Nothing, 
however, had surprised and gratified me more than the 
continued stability of the Pinzon family. On the morn- 
ing after my excursion to Palos, chance gave me an 
opportunity of seeing something of the interior of most 
of their households. Having a curiosity to visit the 
remains of a Moorish castle, once the citadel of Moguer, 
Don Fernandez imdertook to show me a tower which 
served as a magazine of wine to one of the Pinzon 
family. In seeking for the key, we were sent from liousc 
to house of nearly the whole connection. All appeared 
to be living in that golden mean equally removed from 



6G THE CRAYON READINfi BOOK. 



1 



the wants and suportliiitios o( life, and all to be happily 
interwoven by kind and cordial habits of intimacy. We 
found the females of the family generally seated in the 
patios, or central courts of their dwellings, beneath the 
shade of awnings and among shrubs and llowers. Here 
the Andalusian ladies arc accustomed to pass their morn- 
ings at work, siuromided by their handmaids, in the 
primitive, or rather, oriental style. In the porches of 
some of the houses I observed the coat of arms granted 
to the family by Charles V., hung up like a picture in a 
frame. Over the door of Don Luis, the naval officer, it 
was carved on an escutcheon of stone, and colored. I 
had gathered many particidars of the family also from 
conversation with Don Juan, and from the family legend 
lent me by Don Luis. From all that I could learn, it 
would appear that the lapse of nearly three centuries 
and a half has made but little change in the condition of 
the Pinzons. From generation to generation they have 
retained the same fair standing and reputable name 
throughout the neighborhood, filling offices of public 
trust anil dignity, and possessing great inlluonce over 
their fellow-citizens by their good sense and good con- 
duct How rare is it to see such an instance of stability 
of fortime in this llnctuating world, and how truly hon- 
orable is this hereditary respectability, which has been 
secured by uo titles nor entails, but pevpetuatctl merely 
by the innate worth of the race ! 1 declare to you that 
the most illustrious descents of mere titled rank could 
never conmiand the sincere respect and cordial regard 
M'ith which I contemplated this stanch and enduring 
family, which lor three centuries and a half has stood 
merely upon its virtues. 

As I was to set otf on my return to Seville betbre two 
o'clock, I partook of a farewell repast at the house of Don 



PHILIP OF POKANOKET: an INDIAN MEMOIR. G7 

Fuan, between twelve and one, and then took leave of 
his liousehold witli shicere regret. The good old gentle- 
man, with the courtesy, or ratiier the cordiality of a true 
Spaniard, accompanied me to the posada, to see me olf. 
I had dispensed but little money in the posada — thanks 
to the hospitality of the Pinzons — yet the Spanish pride 
of my host and hostess seemed pleased that I had pre- 
ferred their humble chamber, and the scanty bed they 
had provided me, to the spacious mansion of Don Juan ; 
and when I expressed my thanks for their kindness, and 
attention, and regaled mine host with a few choice segars, 
the heart of the poor man was overcome. He seized me 
by botli hands and gave me a parting benediction, and 
then ran after the calasero, to enjoin him to take particu- 
lar care of me during my journey. 



Philip of Pokanoket : an Indian Memoir. 

As nionumt'iitiil bronze unclianged his look : 
A soul that pity touch'd, but never shook : 
Train'd from his tree-rock'd cradle to his bier. 
The fierce extremes of good and ill to brook 
Impassive— fearing but the shame of fear — 
A stoic of the woods — a man without a tear. 

Cami'bell. 

It is to be regretted that those early writers, who 
treated of the discovery and settlement of America, have 
not given us more particular and candid accounts of 
the remarkable characters that flourished in savage life. 
The scanty anecdotes which have reached us arc full of 
peculiarity and interest ; they furnish us with nearer 
glimpses of human nature, and show what man is in a 



68 THE CRAYON READING BOOIC. 

comparatively primitive state, and what he owes to civ- 
ilization. There is something of the charm of dicovery 
in lighting upon these wild and mrexplored tracts of hu- 
man nature ; in witnessing, as it were, the native growth 
of moral sentiment, and perceiving those generous and 
romantic qualities which have been artificially cultivated 
by society, vegetating in spontaneous hardihood and rude 
magnificence. 

In civilized life, where the happiness, and indeed 
almost the existence, of man depends so much upon the 
opinion of his fellow-men, he is constantly acting a stu- 
died part. The bold and peculiar traits of native charac- 
ter are refined away, or softened down by the levelling 
influence of what is termed good-breeding ; and he prac- 
tises so many petty deceptions, and atfects so many gen- 
erous sentiments, for the purposes of popularity, that it is 
difficult to distinguish his real from his artificial charac- 
ter. The Indian, on the contrary, free from the restraints 
and refinements of polished life, and, in a great degree, a 
solitary and independent being, obeys the impulses of his 
inclination or the dictates of his judgment ; and thus the 
attributes of his nature, being freely indulged, grow sin- 
gly great and striking. Society is like a lawn, where 
every roughness is smoothed, every bramble eradicated, 
and where the eye is delighted by the smiling verdure of 
a velvet surface ; he, however, who would study nature 
in its wildness and variety, must plunge into the forest, 
must explore the glen, must stem the torrent, and dare 
the precipice. 

These reflections arose on casually looking through a 
volume of early colonial history, wherein are recorded, 
with great bitterness, the outrages of the Indians, and 
their wars with the settlers of New England. It is pain- 
ful to perceive, even from these partial narratives, how 



PHILIP OF POKANOKET: an INDIAN MEMOIR. 69 

the footsteps of civilization may be traced in the blood of 
the aborigines; how easily the colonists were moved to 
hostility by the lust of conquest ; how merciless and ex- 
terminating was their warfare. The imagination shrinks 
at the idea, how many intellectual beings were hunted 
from the earth, how many brave and noble hearts, of na- 
ture's sterling coinage, were broken down and trampled 
in the dust ! 

Such was the fate of Philip of Pokanoket, an 
Indian warrior, whose name was once a terror through- 
out Massachusetts and Connecticut, He was the most 
distinguished of a number of contemporary Sachems who 
reigned over the Pequods, the Narragansets, the Wampa- 
noags, and the other eastern tribes, at the time of the first 
settlement of New England ; a band of native untaught 
heroes, who made the most generous struggle of which 
human nature is capable ; fighting to the last gasp in the 
cause of their country, without a hope of victory or a 
thought of renown. Worthy of an age of poetry, and fit 
subjects for local story and romantic fiction, they liave 
left scarcely any authentic traces on the page of history, 
but stalk, like gigantic shadows, in the dim twilight of 
tradition. 

When the pilgrims, as the Plymouth settlers are called 
by their descendants, first took refuge on the shores of the 
New World, from the religious persecutions of the Old, 
their situation was to the last degree gloomy and dis- 
heartening. Few in number, and that number rapidly 
perishing away through sickness and hardships ; sur- 
rounded by a howling wilderness and savage tribes ; ex- 
posed to the rigors of an almost arctic winter, and the 
vicissitudes of an ever- shifting climate ; their minds were 
filled with doleful forebodings, and nothing preserved 
them from sinking into despondency but the strong ex- 



70 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

citement of religious enthusiasm. In this forlorn situa- 
tion they were visited by Massasoit, chief Sagamore of 
the Wampanoags, a powerful chief, who reigned over a 
great extent of country. Instead of taking advantage of 
the scanty number of the strangers, and expelling them 
from his territories, into which they had intruded, he 
seemed at once to conceive for them a generous friend- 
ship, and extended towards them the rites of primitive 
hospitality. He came early in the spring to their settle- 
ment of New Plymouth, attended by a mere handful of 
followers ; entered into a solemn league of peace and 
amity ; sold them a portion of the soil, and promised to 
secure for them the good-will of his savage allies. What- 
ever may be said of Indian perfidy, it is certain that the 
integrity and good faith of Massasoit have never been 
impeached. He continued a firm and magnanimous 
friend of the white men ; suflering them to extend their 
possessions, and to strengthen themselves in the land ; 
and betraying no jealousy of their increasing power and 
prosperity. Shortly before his death he came once more 
to New Plymouth, with his son Alexander, for the pur- 
pose of renewing the covenant of peace, and of securing 
it to his posterity. 

At this conference he endeavored to protect the reli- 
gion of his forefathers from the encroaching zeal of the 
missionaries ; and stipulated that no further attempt 
should be made to draw ofi" his people from their ancient 
faith; but, finding the English obstinately opposed to 
any such condition, he mildly relinquished the demand. 
Almost the last act of his life was to bring his two sons, 
Alexander and Philip (as they had been named by the 
English), to the residence of a principal settler, recom- 
mending mutual kindness and confidence ; and entreat- 
ing that the same love and amity which had existed 



PHILIP OF POKANOKET : AN INDIAN MEMOIR. 71 

between the white men and himself might be continued 
afterwards witli his children. The good old Sachem 
died in peace, and was happily gathered to liis fathers 
before sorrow came upon his tribe ; his children remained 
behind to experience the ingratitude of white men. 

His eldest son, Alexander, succeeded him. lie was 
of a quick and impetuous temper, and proudly tenacious 
of his hereditary rights and dignity. The intrusive pol- 
icy and dictatorial conduct of the strangers excited his 
indignation ; and he beheld with uneasiness their exter- 
minating wars with the neighboring tribes. He was 
doomed soon to incur their hostility, being accused of 
plotting with the Narragansets to rise against the Eng- 
lish and drive them from the land. It is impossible to 
say whether this accusation was warranted by facts, or 
was grounded on mere suspicions. It is evident, how- 
ever, by the violent and overbearing measures of the 
settlers, that they had by this time begun to feel con- 
scious of the rapid increase of their power, and to grow 
harsh and inconsiderate in their treatment of the natives. 
They dispatched an armed force to seize upon Alexander, 
and to bring him before their courts. He was traced to 
his woodland haunts, and surprised at a hunting house, 
where he was reposing with a band of his followers, un- 
armed, after the toils of the chase. The suddenness of 
his arrest, and the outrage offered to his sovereign dig- 
nity, so preyed upon the irascible feelings of this proud 
savage, as to throw him into a raging fever. He was 
permitted to return home, on condition of sending his son 
as a pledge for his re-appearance ; but the blow he had 
received was fatal, and before he reached his home he 
fell a victim to the agonies of a wounded spirit. 

The successor of Alexander was Metamocet, or King 
Philip, as he was called by the settlers, on account of his 



72 THE CUAYO.N REAWXlJ BOOK. 

lotty spirit and ambitious toinpor. These, together with 
his well-known energy and enterprise, had rendered him 
ail object of great jealousy and appi-eheiision, and he was 
accused of having always cherished a secret and impla- 
cable hostility towards the whites. Such may very prob- 
ably, and very naturally, have been the case. He con- 
sideit^d them as originally but mere intruders into the 
country, who had pivsumed upon indulgence, and were 
extending an intiuence baneful to savage life. He saw 
the whole race of his countrymen melting before them 
from the face of the earth ; their territories slipping from 
their hands, and their tribes becoming feeble, scattered, 
and dependent. It may be said that the soil was origi- 
nally puivhased by the settlers ; but who does not know 
the nature of Indian purchases, in the early periods of 
colonization .- The Europeans always made thrifty bar- 
gains through their superior adroitness in tratlic ; and they 
gained vast accessions oi' territory by easily provoked 
hostilities. An uncultivated savage is never a nice in- 
qiiirer into the ix^linenients of law, by whicli an injury 
may be gradually and legally intlicted. Leading facts 
are all by which he judges ; and it was enough for Philip 
to know that bet'ore the intrusion of the Europeans his 
countrymen were lords of the soil, and that now they 
were becoming vagabonds in the land of their fathers. 

IJut whatever may have been his feelings of general 
hostility, and his particular indignation at the treatment 
of his brother, he su{>pressed them for the present, re- 
newed the contract with the settlei-s, and i-esided j^eacea- 
bly for many years at Pokanoket, or, as it was called by 
the English. Mount Hope,* the ancient seat of dommion 
of his tribe. Suspicions, however, which were at first 

• Now Bristol, Rhode Island. 



PHILir OF POKANOKET I AN INDIAN MEMOIR. 73 

but vague and iudcfaiite, began to uc({uiio Ibrui and sub- 
stance ; and he was at length charged with attempting 
to instigate the various Eastern tribes to rise at once, and, 
by a sinudtaneoiKs etibrt, to throw off the yoke of tlieir 
oppressors. It is dillicult at this distant period to assign 
the proper credit due to tliese early accusations against 
the Indians. There was a proneness to suspicion, and 
an aptness to acts of violence, on the part of the whites, 
that gave weigh! and importance to every idle tale. In- 
formers abounded where tale-bearing met with counte- 
nance and reward ; and the sword was readily unsheath- 
ed when its success was certain, and it carved out em- 
pire. 

The only positive evidence on record against Philip is 
the accusation of one Sausanian, a renegade Indian, 
whose natural cunning had been quickened by a partial 
education which he had received among the settlers. He 
changed his faith and his allegiance two or three times, 
with a facility that evinced the looseness of his principles. 
He had acted for some time as Philip's confidential secre- 
tary and counsellor, and had enjoyed his bounty and 
protection. Finding, however, that the clouds of adver- 
sity were gathering round his patron, he abandoned his 
service and went over to the whites ; and, in order to gain 
their favor, charged his former benefactor with plotting 
against their safety. A rigorous mvcstigation took place. 
Philip and several of his subjects submitted to be ex- 
amined, but nothing was proved against them. The 
settlers, however, had now gone too far to retract ; they 
had ])reviously determined that Philip was a dangerous 
neighbor; they had publicly evinced their distrust ; and 
had done enough to insure his hostility ; according, there- 
fore, to the usual mode of reasoning in these cases, his 
destruction had become necessary to their security. 

4 



74 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

Sausaman. the treacherous informer, was shortly after- 
wards found dead, in a pond, having fahen a victim to 
the vengeance of his tribe. Three Indians, one of wiioni 
Avas a friend and counsellor of Philip, were apprehended 
and tried, and, on the testimony of one very questionable 
witness, were condemned and executed as murderers. 

This treatment of his subjects, and ignominious pun- 
ishment of his friend, outraged the pride and exasperated 
the passions of Philip. The bolt which had fallen thus 
at his very feet awakened him to the gathering storm, 
and he determined to trust himself no longer in the power 
of the white men. The fate of his insulted and broken- 
hearted brother still rankled in his mind ; and he had a 
further warning in the tragical story of Miantonimo, a 
great Sachem of the Narragansets, who, after manfully 
facing his accusers before a tribunal of the colonists, ex- 
culpating himself from a charge of conspiracy, and 
receiving assurances of amity, had been perfidiously dis- 
patched at their instigation. Philip, therefore, gathered 
his fighting men about him ; persuaded all strangers that 
he could, to join his cause ; sent the women and children 
to the Narragansets for safety ; and wherever he appeared, 
was continually surromided by armed warriors. 

When the two parties were thus in a state of distrust 
and irritation, the least spark was sutficient to set them 
in a flame. The Indians, having weapons in their hands, 
grew mischievous, arid committed various petty depreda- 
tions. In one of their maraudings a warrior was fired on 
and killed by a settler. This was the signal for open 
hostilities ; the Indians pressed to revenge the death of 
their comrade, and the alarm of war resounded through 
the Plymouth colony. 

In the early chronicles of these dark and melancholy 
tmies we meet with many indications of the diseased 



PHILIP OF POKANOKET : AN INDIAN MEMOIR. 75 

State of the public mind. The gloom of religious ab- 
straction, and the wildness of their situation, among 
trackless forests and savage tribes, had disposed the 
colonists to superstitious fancies, and had filled their 
imaginations with the frightful chimeras of witchcraft 
and spectrology. They were much given also to a belief 
in omens. The troubles with Philip and his Indians 
were preceded, we are told, by a variety of those awful 
warnings which forerun great and public calamities. 
The perfect form of an Indian bow appeared in the air 
at New Plymouth, which was looked upon by the in- 
habitants as a "prodigious apparition." At Hadley, 
Northampton, and other towns in their neighborhood, 
" was heard the report of a great piece of ordnance, with 
a shaking of the earth and a considerable echo."* Others 
were alarmed on a still sunshiny morning by the dis- 
charge of guns and muskets ; bullets seemed to whistle 
past them, and the noise of drums resounded in the air, 
seeming to pass away to the westward; others fancied 
that they heard the galloping of horses over their heads ; 
and certain monstrous births, which took place about the 
time, filled the superstitious in some towns with doleful 
forebodings. Many of these portentous sights and sounds 
may be ascribed to natural phenomena : to the northern 
lights which occiu" vividly in those latitudes ; the meteors 
which explode in the air ; the casual rushing of a blast 
through the top branches of the forest ; the crash of fallen 
trees or disrupted rocks ; and to those other uncouth 
sounds and echoes which will sometimes strike the ear 
so strangely amidst the profound stillness of woodland 
solitudes. These may have startled some melancholy 
imaginations, may have been exaggerated by the love 
for the marvellous, and listened to with that avidity with 

* The Rev. Increase Mather's History. 



76 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

which we devour whatever is fearful and mysterious. 
The universal currency of these superstitious fancies, 
and the grave record made of them by one of the learned 
men of the day, are strongly characteristic of the times. 

The nature of the contest that ensued was such as 
too often distinguishes the warfare between civilized men 
and savages. On the part of the whites it was conducted 
with superior skill and success ; but with a wastefulness 
of the blood, and a disregard of the natural rights of their 
antagonists : on the part of the Indians it was waged 
with the desperation of men fearless of death, and who 
had nothing to expect from peace, but humiliation, 
dependence, and decay. 

The events of the war are transmitted to us by a 
worthy clergyman of the time ; who dwells with horror 
and indignation on every hostile act of the Indians, how- 
ever justifiable, whilst he mentions with applause the 
most sanguinary atrocities of the whites. Philip is 
reviled as a murderer and a traitor ; without considering 
that he was a true born prince, gallantly fighting at 
the head of his subjects to avenge the M^rongs of his 
family ; to retrieve the tottering power of his line ; and to 
deliver his native land from the oppression of usurping 
strangers. 

The project of a wide and simultaneous revolt, if such 
had really been formed, was worthy of a capacious mind, 
and, had it not been prematurely discovered, might have 
been overwhelming in its consequences. The war that 
actually broke out was but a war of detail, a mere suc- 
cession of casual exploits and unconnected enterprises. 
Still it sets forth the military genius and daring prowess 
of Philip : and wherever, in the prejudiced and passionate 
narrations that have been given of it, we can arrive at 
simple tacts, we find him displaying a vigorous mind, a 



PHILIP OF POKANOKET: an INDIAN MEMOIR. 77 

fertility of expedients, a contempt of suffering and hard- 
ship, and an unconquerable resolution, that command 
our sympathy and applause. 

To fill up the measure of his misfortunes, his own 
followers began to plot against his life, that by sacrificing 
him they might purchase dishonorable safety. Through 
treachery a number of his faithful adherents, the subjects 
of Wetamoe, an Indian princess of Pocasset, a near kins- 
woman and confederate of Philip, were betrayed into the 
hands of the enemy. Wetamoe was among them at the 
time, and attempted to make her escape by crossing a 
neighboring river : either exhausted by swimming, or 
starved with cold and hunger, she was found dead and 
naked near the water side. But persecution ceased not 
at the grave. Even death, the refuge of the wretched, 
where the wicked commonly cease from troubling, was 
no protection to this outcast female, whose great crime 
was affectionate fidelity to her kinsman and her friend. 
Her corpse was the object of unmanly and dastardly 
vengeance ; the head was severed from the body and set 
upon a pole, and was thus exposed at Taunton, to the 
view of her captive subjects. They immediately recog- 
nized the features of their unfortunate queen, and were 
so affected at this barbarous spectacle, that we are told 
they broke forth into the " most horrid and diabolical la- 
mentations." 

However Philip had borne up against the complicated 
miseries and misfortunes that surrounded him, the treach- 
ery of his followers seemed to wring his heart and reduce 
him to despondency. It is said that " he never rejoiced 
afterwards, nor had success in any of his designs." The 
spring of ho])e was broken — -the ardor of enterprise was 
extinguished — he looked around, and all was danger and 



78 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

darkness ; tliere was no eye to pity, nor any arm that 
could bring deliverance. With a scanty band of follow- 
ers, who still remained true to his desperate fortunes, the 
unhappy Philip wandered back to the vicinity of Moun 
Hope, the ancient dwelling of his fathers. Here he lurk- 
ed about, like a spectre, among the scenes of former power 
and prosperity, now bereft of home, of family, and friend. 
There needs no better picture of his destitute and piteous 
situation, than that furnished by the homely pen of the 
chronicler, who is unwarily enlisting the feelings of the 
reader in favor of the hapless warrior whom he reviles. 
" Philip," he says, " like a savage wild beast, having been 
hunted by the English forces through the woods, above a 
hundred miles backward and forward, at last was driven 
to his own den upon Mount Hope, where he retired, with 
a few of his best friends, into a swamp, which proved but 
a prison to keep him fast till the messengers of death 
came by divine permission to execute vengeance upon 
him." 

Even in this last refuge of desperation and despair, a 
sullen grandeur gathers round his memory. We picture 
him to ourselves seated among his care-worn followers, 
brooding in silence over his blasted fortunes, and acquir- 
ing a savage sublimity from the wildness and dreariness 
of his lurking place. Defeated, but not dismayed — crush- 
ed to the earth, but not humiliated — he seemed to grow 
more haughty beneath disaster, and to experience a fierce 
satisfaction in draining the last dregs of bitterness. Lit- 
tle minds are tamed and subdued by misfortune ; but 
great minds rise above it. The very idea of submission 
awakened the fury of Philip, and he smote to death one 
of his followers, who proposed an expedient of peace. 
The brother of the victim made his escape, and in reA'enge 
betrayed the retreat of his chieftain. A body of white 



PHILIP OF PUKANOKET: an INDIAN MEMOIR. 79 

men and Indians were immediately dispatched to the 
swamp where Phihp lay cronched, glaring with fury and 
despair. Before he was aware of their approach, they 
had begun to surround him. In a little while lie saw 
five of his trustiest followers laid dead at his feet ; all re- 
sistance was vain ; he rushed forth from his covert, and 
made a headlong attempt to escape, but was shot through 
the heart by a renegade Indian of his own nation. 

Such is the scanty story of the brave but unfortunate 
King Philip ; persecuted while living, slandered and dis- 
honored when dead. If, however, we consider even the 
prejudiced anecdotes furnished us by his enemies, we 
may perceive in them traces of amiable and lofty charac- 
ter sufficient to awaken sympathy for his fate, and respect 
for his memory. We find that, amidst all the harassing 
cares and ferocious passions of constant warfare, he was 
alive to the softer feelings of connubial love and paternal 
tenderness, and to the generous sentiment of friendship. 
The captivity of his "beloved wife and only son" are 
mentioned with exultation as causing him poignant mis- 
ery : the death of any near friend is triumphantly record- 
ed as a new blow on his sensibilities ; but the treachery 
and desertion of many of his followers, in whose affections 
he had confided, is said to have desolated his heart, and 
to have bereaved him of all further comfort. He was a 
patriot attached to his native soil — a prince true to his 
subjects, and indignant of their wrongs — a soldier, daring 
in battle, firm in adversity, patient of fatigue, of hunger, 
of every variety of bodily sutfering, and ready to perish 
in the cause he had espoused. Proud of heart, and with 
an untamable love of natural liberty, he preferred to en- 
joy it among the beasts of the forests or in the dismal and 
famished recesses of swamps and morasses, rather than 
bow his haughty spirit to submission, and live dependent 



80 THE CRAYON KEAPrSG BOOK. 

and despis^ed in the ease and luxury of the settlements. 
With heroic qualities and bold acliievements that would 
have graced a civilized w^axrior. and would have render- 
ed him the theme ot the poet and the historian ; he lived 
a wanderer and a fugitive in his native laud, and went 
down, like a lonely bark foundering amid darkness and 
tempest — without a pityhig eye to weep his fall, or a 
Irieudlv hand to record his struggle. 



Traits of Indian cJtaracier. 

•' I appeal to any white man if erer he entered Logan's cabin hongrr, 
and he gare him not to eat ; if ever he came cold and naked, and be clothed 
him noc" 

SrEKCH OF AS Ixi>ia:t Chtet. 

There is something in the character and habits of 
the North American savage, taken in comiection with the 
sceneiv- over which he is accustomed to range, its vast 
lakes, bomidless forests, majestic rivers, and trackless 
plains, that is, to my mind, wonderfully striking and sub- 
lime. He is fonned for the wilderness, as the Arab is 
for the desert. His nature is stern, sunple. and enduring; 
fitted to grapple with difficulties, and to support priva- 
tions. There seems but little soil in his heart for the 
support of the kindly virtues ; and yet if we would but 
take tl\e trouble to penetrate through tliat proud stoicism 
and habitual taciturnir\-. which kx-k up his character ftom 
casual observation, we should find him linked to his fel- 
low-man of civilized life by more of tliose sympathies and 
affections than are usually ascribeii to him. 

It has been the lot of the unfortunate aborigines of 



TRAITS OF INDIAN CHARACTER. 81 

America, in the early periods of colonization, to be doubly 
wronged by the white men. They have been dispossess- 
ed of their hereditary possessions by mercenary and fre- 
quently wanton warfare : and their characters have been 
traduced by bigoted and interested writers. The colonist 
often treated them like beasts of the forest ; and the au- 
thor has endeavored to justify him in his outrages. The 
former found it easier to exterminate than to civilize; the 
latter to villify than to discriminate. The appellations of 
savage and pagan were deemed sufficient to sanction the 
hostilities of both ; and thus the poor wanderers of the 
forest were persecuted and defamed, not because they 
were guilty, but because they were ignorant. 

The rights of the savage have seldom been properly 
appreciated or respected by the white man. In peace he 
has too often been the dupe of artful traffic ; in war he 
has been regarded as a ferocious animal, whose life or 
death was a question of mere precaution and convenience, 
Man is cruelly wasteful of life when his own safety is 
endangered, and he is sheltered by impunity ; and little 
mercy is to be expected from him, when he feels the sting 
of the reptile and is conscious of the power to destroy. 

The same prejudices, which were indulged thus early, 
exist in common circulation at the present day. Certain 
learned societies have, it is true, with laudable diligence, 
endeavored to investigate and record the real characters 
and manners of the Indian tribes ; the American govern- 
ment, too, has wisely and humanely exerted itself to in- 
culcate a friendly and forbearing spirit towards them, and 
to protect them from fraud and injustice.* The current 

* The American government has been indefatigable in its exertions to 
ameliorate the situation of the Indians, and to introduce among them the 
arts of civilization, ami civil and religious knowledge. To protect them 
from the frauds of the white traders, no purchase of land from them by in- 

4* 



89 I'HE CKAYON KEAPINi.i BOOK.. 

opinion ot" tho Indian character, lunvevor, is t».x> apt to be 
tornuHi tivni the miserable lioixies wliich infest the fron- 
tiers, and haui: on the skirts of the settlements. These 
aiv ttxi connnonly comj.K>set.i of degenerate beings, cor- 
riiptei.1 and enft»ebled by the vices of society, witliont be- 
ing Ivnefited by its civilization. That pixnid indejvndence, 
which formed the main pillar of savage virtue, has been 
shaken down, and tlie whole moral fabric lies in ruins. 
Their spirits art» humiliated and delxistxl by a sense of 
inferiority, and their native courage cowed and daunted 
by the suix^rior knowledge and jx>wer of their enlightened 
neighlx^rs. S».XMety has advanced ujxni them like one of 
those withering airs that will sometimes bretxl desolation 
over a whole region of fertility. It has enervated their 
strtMigth. multiplied their diseases, and sujxn'hiductxi upon 
their original kirkvrity the low vices of artiticial life. It 
has given them a thousixnd sujiertiuous wants, whilst it 
has diminished their memis of mere existence. It has 
driven Knoiv it the animals of the chase, who fly from 
the sound of the axe iuid the smoke of the settlement, and 
stx'k ivfuge in the depths of remoter forests and yet un- 
tnxiden wilds. Thus do we too otten And the Indians on 
our iWntiers to W the mere wrecks and remnants of once 
p«.nverful tribes, who have lingered in the vicinity of the 
settlements, and sunk into precarious and vag;ilx^nd ex- 
istence. Poverty, repining and hopeless jx^verty. a canker 
of the mind unknown in siivage life, coraxles their spirits, 
and blights every free and noble quality of their natures. 
They Kvome drunken, indolent, tlvble, thievish, and pu- 
sillanimous. Tliey loiter Uke ^-ag^ults about tlie settle- 
ments, among spacious dwellings replete with elaborate 

diriduals is penuitted ; dot b any person allowed to receit* lands from tbem 
as a present, without the express sanction of g«>venmient These prevau- 
tions aie strictly enibrced. 



TKAITS OK 1M)IAN CM A IJ A("Ti;i! . 83 

conilorls, which only rciuh'r (h(>m smisihlc oC ihc coni- 
paralivc wriMchcdiicss of (licir own conihtion. Luxury 
spreads ils ;uu])lc hoard lu'lorc (li(>ir eyes; hut they aro 
cxchidcd iVoni tlu> han(|ucl. Plenty revels over the fields; 
hul they are starviuii; in the midst of its ahundaiice: tlie 
whole wildiM'uess has l)lossonie(l into a i^ardeu ; hul they 
leel as reptiles that iulest it. 

How dillerent was their slate while y<'l the undisputed 
lords of the soil ! 'riioir wants were lew, and the means 
of gratification within their roach. They saw every one 
round Iheni sharing the same lot, enduring the same liard- 
ships, feeding on the same aliments, arrayed in the same 
rude garments. No roof ihon rose, hut was open to the 
homeless stranger; no sinojio curled among the trees, hut 
he was welcome to sit down hy its fuo and join the 
hunter in his rejiast. " l'\)r," says an old historian of New 
I'iiigland, "their life is so void of care, and they are so 
loving also, that th(>y make use of those things they enjoy 
as common gooils, and are therein so compassionate, that 
rather than one should starve through want, they would 
starve all ; thus they pass their tinu^ iiKM-rily, not regard- 
ing our ]iom|), hut are luMt(>r content with their own, 
which some \\\vi\ esleem so meanly of" Such were the 
Indians whilst in thi^ pridi^ and (Mu^rgy of their jnimitivc 
natures: they resemhled thos(> wild jjlauts, which thrive 
h(>sl in the shades ot' th(> forest, hut shrink Irom the hand 
of cultivation, and p(Mish heneath the iiillueuce of the 
Sim. 

In discussing the savage character, writers have been 
too |iroiie to indulge in vulgar prejudice and passionate 
exaggeration, instead of th(^ candid temp(>r of true phi- 
losophy. 'lMu>y hav(> not sutliciently consid(M-ed the 
peculiar circiunslances in which 1h(> Indians have been 
placed, and the [U'culiar princij)les under which they have 



84 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

been educated. No being acts more rigidly from rule 
than the Indian. His whole conduct is regulated accord- 
ing to some general maxims early implanted in ?iis 
mind. The moral laws that govern him are, to be sure, 
but few ; but then he conforms to them all ; — the white 
man abounds in laws of religion, morals, and manners, 
but how many does he violate ? 

A frequent ground of accusation against the Indians 
is their disregard of treaties, and the treachery and wan- 
tonness with which, in time of apparent peace, they will 
suddenly fly to hostilities. The intercourse of the white 
men with the Indians, however, is too apt to be cold, dis- 
trustful, oppressive, and insulting. They seldom treat 
them with that confidence and frankness which are in- 
dispensable to real friendship; nor is sufficient caution 
observed not to ofiend against those feelings of pride or 
superstition, which often prompt the Indian to hostility 
quicker than mere considerations of interest. The soli- 
tary savage feels silently, but acutely. His sensibilities 
are not diflused over so wide a surface as those of the 
white man ; but they run in steadier and deeper channels. 
His pride, his aftections, his superstitions, are all directed 
towards fewer objects ; but the wounds inflicted on them 
are proportionably severe, and furnish motives of hostility 
which we cannnot sufliciently appreciate. Where a 
community is also limited in number, and forms one 
great patriarchal family, as in an Indian tribe, the injury 
of an individual is the injury of the whole ; and the senti- 
ment of vengeance is almost instantaneously diflused. 
One council fire is suflicient for the discussion and 
arrangement of a plan of hostilities. Here all the fight- 
ing men and sages assemble. Eloquence and superstition 
combine to inflame the minds of the warriors. The 
orator awakens their martial ardor, and they are wrought 



TRAITS OF INDIAN CHARACTER. 85 

up to a kind of religious desperation, by the visions of the 
prophet and the dreamer. 

An instance of one of those sudden exasperations, 
arising from a motive pecuhar to the Indian character, is 
extant in an old record of the early settlement of Mas- 
sachusetts. The planters of Plymouth had defaced the 
monuments of the dead at Passonagessit, and had plun- 
dered the grave of the Sachem's mother of some skins 
with which it had been decorated. The Indians are re- 
markable for the reverence which they entertain for the 
sepulchres of their kindred. Tribes that have passed 
generations exiled from the abodes of their ancestors, 
when by chance they have been travelling in the vicinity, 
have been known to turn aside from the highway, and, 
guided by wonderfully accurate tradition, have crossed 
the country for miles to some tumulus, buried perhaps in 
woods, where the bones of their tribe were anciently 
deposited ; and there have passed hours in silent medita- 
tion. Influenced by this sublime and holy feeling, the 
Sachem, whose mother's tomb had been violated, gathered 
his men together, and addressed them in the following 
beautifully simple and pathetic harangue ; a curious 
specimen of Indian eloquence, and an affecting instance 
of filial piety in a savage. 

" When last the glorious light of all the sky was un- 
derneath this globe, and birds grew silent, I began to 
settle, as my custom is, to take repose. Before mine eyes 
were fast closed, methought I saw a vision, at which my 
spirit was much troubled ; and trembling at that doleful 
sight, a spirit cried aloud, 'Behold, my son, whom I have 
cherished, see the breasts that gave thee suck, the hands 
that lapped thee warm, and fed thee oft. Canst thou for- 
get to take revenge of those wild people who have defaced 
my monument in a despiteful manner, disdaining our 



86 THE CKAVO.N REAmNG BOOK. 

antiquities and honorable customs ? See, now, the 
Sachem's grave hes like the common people, defaced by 
an ignoble race. Thy mother doth complain, and im- 
plores thy aid against this thievish people, who have 
newly intruded on our land. If this be sutiered, I shall 
not rest quiet in my everlasting habitation.' This said, 
the spirit vmiished, and I, all in a sweat, not able scarce 
to speak, began to get some strength, and recollect my 
spirits that were tied, and determined to demand your 
counsel and assistance." 

I have adduced this anecdote at some length, as it 
tends to show how these sudden acts of hostility, which 
have been attributed to caprice and perfidy, may often 
arise from deep and generous motives, which our inatten- 
tion to Indian character and customs prevents our pro- 
perly appreciating. 

Another ground of violent outcry against the Indians 
is their barbarity to the vanquished. This had its origin 
partly in policy and partly in superstition. The tribes, 
though sometimes called nations, were never so formida- 
ble in their numbers, but that the loss of several warriors 
was sensibly felt ; this was particularly the case when 
they had been frequently engaged in warfare ; and many 
an instance occurs in Indian history, where a tribe, that 
had long been formidable to its neighbors, has been 
broken up and driven away, by the capture and massa- 
cre of its principal fighting men. There was a strong 
temptation, therefore, to the victor to be merciless ; not 
so much to gratify any cruel revenge, as to provide for 
future security. The Indians had also the superstitious 
belief, frequent among barbarous nations, and prevalent 
also among the ancients, that the manes of their friends 
who had fallen in battle were soothed by the blood of 
the captives. The prisoners, however, who are not tjuis 



TRAITS OF INDIAN CHARACTER. 87 

sacrificed, are adopted into their families in the place of 
the slain, and are treated with the confidence and affec- 
tion of relatives and friends ; nay, so hospitable and ten- 
der is their entertainment, that when the alternative is 
olfered them, they will often prefer to remain with their 
adopted brethren, rather than return to the home and the 
friends of their youth. 

The cruelty of the Indians towards their prisoners 
has been heightened since the colonization of the whites. 
What was formerly a compliance with policy and super- 
stition, has been exasperated into a gratification of ven- 
geance. They cannot but be sensible that the white 
men are the usurpers of their ancient dominion, the cause 
of their degradation, and the gradual destroyers of their 
race. They go forth to battle, smarting with injuries 
and indignities which they have individually suffered, 
and they are driven to madness and despair by the wide- 
spreading desolation, and the overwhelming ruin of Eu- 
ropean warfare. The whites have too frequently set 
them an example of violence, by burning their villages, 
and laying waste their slender means of subsistence : 
and yet they wonder that savages do not show modera- 
tion and magnanimity towards those who have left them 
nothing but mere existence and wretchedness. 

We stigmatize the Indians, also, as cowardly and 
treacherous, because they use stratagem in warfare, in 
preference to open force ; but in this they are fully justi- 
fied by their rude code of honor. They are early taught 
that stratagem is praiseworthy ; the bravest warrior 
thinks it no disgrace to lurk in silence, and take every 
advantage of his foe : he triumphs in the superior craft 
and sagacity by which he has been enabled to surprise 
and destroy an enemy. Indeed, man is naturally more 
prone to subtilty than open valor, owing to his physical 



88 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

weakness in comparison with other animals. Tliey are 
endowed with natural weapons of defence : with horns, 
with tusks, with hoofs, and talons ; but man has to de- 
pend on his superior sagacity. In all his encounters with 
these, his proper enemies, he resorts to stratagem ; and 
when he perversely turns his hostility against his fellow- 
man, he at first continues the same subtle mode of 
warfare. 

The natural principle of war is to do the most harm 
to our enemy with the least harm to ourselves ; and this 
of course is to be effected by stratagem. That chival- 
rous courage which induces us to despise the suggestions 
of prudence, and to rush in the face of certain danger, is 
the offspring of society, and produced by education. It 
is honorable, because it is in fact the triumph of lofty 
sentiment over an instinctive repugnance to pain, and 
over those yearnings after personal ease and security, 
which society has condemned as ignoble. It is kept 
alive by pride and the fear of shame ; and thus the dread 
of real evil is overcome by the superior dread of an evil 
wliich exists but in the imagination. It has been cher- 
ished and stimulated also by various means. It has been 
the theme of spirit-stirring song and chivalrous story. 
The poet and minstrel have delighted to shed round it 
the splendors of fiction ; and even the historian has for- 
gotten the sober gravity of narration, and broken forth 
into enthusiasm and rhapsody in its praise. Triumphs 
and gorgeous pageants have been its reward : monu- 
ments, on which art has exhausted its skill, and opulence 
its treasures, have been erected to perpetuate a nation's 
gratitude and admiration. Thus artificially excited, cour- 
age has risen to an extraordinary and factitious degree 
of heroism : and, arrayed in all the glorious '• pomp and 
circmnstance of war," this turbulent quality has even 



TRAITS OF INDIAN CHARACTER. 89 

been able to eclipse many of those quiet, but invaluable 
virtues, which silently ennoble the human character, and 
swell the tide of human happiness. 

But if courage intrinsically consists in the defiance 
of danger and pain, the life of the Indian is a contiimal 
exhibition of it. He lives in a state of perpetual hostility 
and risk. Peril and adventure are congenial to his na- 
ture ; or rather seem necessary to arouse his faculties and 
to give an interest to his existence. Surrounded by hos- 
tile tribes, whose mode of warfare is by ambush and sur- 
prisal, he is always prepared for fight, and lives with his 
weapons in his hands. As the ship careers in fearful 
singleness through the solitudes of ocean ; — as the bird 
mingles among clouds and storms, and wings its way, a 
mere speck, across the pathless fields of air ; — so the In- 
dian holds his course, silent, solitary, but undaunted, 
through the boundless bosom of the wilderness. His 
expeditions may vie in distance and danger with the 
pilgrimage of the devotee, or the crusade of the knight- 
errant. He traverses vast forests, exposed to the hazards 
of lonely sickness, of lurking enemies, and pining famine. 
Stormy lakes, those great inland seas, are no obsta- 
cles to his wanderings : in his light canoe of bark he 
sports, like a feather, on their waves, and darts, with the 
swiftness of an arrow, down the roaring rapids of the 
rivers. His very subsistence is snatched from the midst 
of toil and peril. He gains his food by the hardships 
and dangers of the chase : he wraps himself in the spoils 
of the bear, the panther, and the buflalo, and sleeps 
among the thunders of the cataract. 

No hero of ancient or modern days can surpass the 
Indian in his lofty contempt of death, and the fortitude 
with which he sustains its cruellest affliction. Indeed we 
here behold him rising superior to the white man, in con- 



90 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

sequence of his peculiar education. The latter rushes to 
glorious deatli at the cannon's mouth ; the former calmly 
contemplates its approach, and triumphantly endures it, 
amidst the varied torments of surrounding foes and the 
protracted agonies of fire. He even takes a pride in 
taunting his persecutors, and provoking their ingenuity 
of torture ; and as the devouring flames prey on his very 
vitals, and the llesh shrinks from the sinews, he raises 
his last song of triumph, breathing the defiance of an 
unconquered heart, and invoking the spirits of his fathers 
to witness that he dies without a groan. 

Notwithstanding the obloquy with which the early 
historians have overshadowed the characters of the un- 
fortunate natives, some bright gleams occasionally break 
through, which throw a degree of melancholy lustre on 
their memories. Facts are occasionally to be met with 
in the rude annals of the eastern provinces, which, though 
recorded with the coloring of prejudice and bigotry, yet 
speak for themselves ; and will be dwelt on with applause 
and sympathy, when prejudice shall have passed awa3^ 

In one of the homely narratives of the Indian wars 
in New England, there is a touching account of the 
desolation carried into the tribe of the Pequod Indians. 
Humanity shrinks from the cold-blooded detail of indis- 
criminate butchery. In one place we read of the sur- 
prisal of an Indian fort in the night, when the wigwams 
were wrapped in flames, and the miserable inhabitants 
shot down and slain in attempting to escape, " all being 
dispatched and ended in the course of an hour." After 
a series of similar transactions, "our soldiers," as the 
historian piously observes, " being resolved by God's 
assistance to make a final destruction of them," the un- 
happy savages being hunted from their homes and 
fortresses, and pursued with fire and sword, a scanty, 



THAITS OF INDIAN CHARACTER. 91 

but gallant band, the sad remnant of the Pcqnod war- 
riors, with their wives and children, took refuge in a 
swamp. 

Burning with indignation, and rendered sullen by 
despair ; with hearts bursting with grief at the destruc- 
tion of their tribe, and spirits galled and sore at the 
fancied ignominy of their defeat, they refused to ask 
their lives at the hands of an insulting foe, and preferred 
death to submission. 

As the night drew on they were surrounded in their 
dismal retreat, so as to render escape impracticable. 
Thus situated, their enemy " plied them with shot all the 
time, by which means many were killed and buried in 
the mire." In the darkness and fog that preceded the 
dawn of day some few broke through the besiegers and 
escaped into the woods : " the rest were left to the con- 
querors, of which many were killed in the swamp, like 
sullen dogs who would rather, in their self-willedness 
and madness, sit still and be shot through, or cut to 
pieces," than implore for mercy. When the day broke 
upon this handful of forlorn but dauntless spirits, the 
soldiers, we are told, entering the swamp, " saw several 
heaps of them sitting close together, upon whom they dis- 
charged their pieces, laden with ten or twelve pistol 
bullets at a time, putting the muzzles of the pieces under 
the boughs, within a few yards of them ; so as, besides 
those that were found dead, many more were killed and 
sunk into the mire, and never were minded more by 
friend or foe." 

Can any one read this plain unvarnished tale, without 
admiring the stern resolution, the unbending pride, the 
loftiness of spirit, that seemed to nerve the hearts of these 
self-taught heroes, and to raise them above the instinctive 
feelings of human nature? When the Gauls laid waste 



92 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

the city of Rome, they found the senators clothed in their 
robes, and seated with stern tranquilhty in their curule 
chairs ; in this manner they suffered death without 
resistance or even supphcation. Such conduct was, in 
them, applauded as noble and magnanimous ; in the hap- 
less Indian it was reviled as obstinate and sullen. How 
truly are we the dupes of show and circumstance ! How 
diflerent is virtue, clothed in purple and enthroned in 
state, from virtue, naked and destitute, and perishing 
obscurely in a wilderness ! 

But I forbear to dwell on these gloomly pictures. 
The eastern tribes have long since disappeared ; the for- 
ests that sheltered them have been laid low, and scarce 
any traces remain of them in the thickly-settled states of 
New England, excepting here and there the Indian name 
of a village or a stream. And such must, sooner or later, 
be the fate of those other tribes which skirt the frontiers, 
and have occasionally been inveigled from their forests 
to mingle in the wars of white men. In a little while, 
and they will go the way that their brethren have gone 
before. The few hordes which still linger about the 
shores of Huron and Superior, and the tributary streams 
of the Mississippi, will share the fate of those tribes that 
once spread over Massachusetts and Connecticut, and 
lorded it along the proud banks of the Hudson ; of that 
gigantic race said to have existed on the borders of 
the Susquehanna; and of those various nations that 
flourished about the Potomac and the Rappahannock, 
and that peopled the forests of the vast valley of Shen- 
andoah. They will vanish like a vapor from the face of 
the earth ; their very history will be lost in forgetfulness : 
and " the places that now know them will know them 
no more for ever." Or if, perchance, some dubious 
memorial of them should survive, it may be in the 



THE MOUTH OF THE COLUMBIA. 93 

romantic dreams of the poet, to people in imagination his 
glades and groves, like the fauns and satyrs and sylvan 
deities of antiquity. But should he venture upon the 
dark story of their wrongs and wretchedness ; should he 
tell how they were invaded, corrupted, despoiled, driven 
from their native abodes and the sepulchres of their 
fathers, hunted like wild beasts about the earth, and sent 
down with violence and butchery to the grave, posterity 
will either turn with horror and incredulity from the 
tale, or blush with indignation at the inhumanity of their 
forefathers. — "We are driven back," said an old warrior, 
" until we can retreat no farther — our hatchets are broken, 
our bows are snapped, our fires are nearly extinguished 
— a little longer and the white man will cease to perse- 
cute us — for we shall cease to exist !" 



The Moiith of the Columbia. 

The Columbia, or Oregon, for the distance of thirty 
or forty miles from its entrance into the sea, is, properly 
speaking, a mere estuary, indented by deep bays so as to 
vary from three to seven miles in width ; and is rendered 
extremely intricate and dangerous by shoals reaching 
nearly from shore to shore, on which, at times, the winds 
and currents produce foaming and tumultuous breakers. 
The mouth of the river proper is but about half a mile 
wide, formed by the contracting shores of the estuary. 
The entrance from the sea, as we have already observed, 
is bounded on the south side by a flat sandy spit of land, 
stretching into the ocean. This is commonly called Point 
Adams. The opposite, or northern side, is Cape Disap- 



94 THE CRAYON KEADLVG BOOK. 

pointment ; a kind of peninsula, terminating in a steep 
knoll or promontory crowned with a forest of pine trees, 
ai.d connected with the main-land by a low and narrow 
neck. Immediately within this cape is a wide, open bay, 
terminating at Chinook Point, so called from a neighbor- 
ing tribe of Indians. This was called Bakers Bay. and 
here the Tonquin was anchored. 

The natives inhabiting the lower part of the river, and 
with whom the company was likely to have the most 
frequent intercourse, were divided at this time into four 
tribes, the Chinooks, Clatsops, Wahkiacums, and Catli- 
lamahs. They resembled each other in person, dress, 
language, and manner ; and were probably from the same 
stock, but broken into tribes, or rather hordes, by those 
feuds and schisms frequent among Indians. 

These people generally live by fishing. It is true 
they occasionally hunt the elk and deer, and ensnare the 
waterfowl of their ponds and rivers, but these are casual 
luxuries. Their chief subsistence is derived from the 
salmon and other fish which abound in the Columbia 
and its tributary streams, aided by roots and herbs, espe- 
cially the wappatoo, which is found on the islands of the 
river. 

As the Indians of the plains who depend upon the 
chase are bold and expert riders, and pride themselves 
upon their horses, so these piscatory tribes of the coast 
excel ill the management of canoes, and are never more 
at home than Avhen riding upon the waves. Their ca- 
noes vary in form and size. Some are upwards of fifty 
feet long, cut out of a single tree, either fir or white cedar, 
and capable of carrying thirty persons. They have 
thwart pieces from side to side about three inches thick, 
and their gunwales flare outwards, so as to cast off" the 
surges of the waves. The bow and stern are decorated 



THE MOUTH OF THE COLUMBIA. 95 

with grotesque figures of men and animals, sometimes 
five feet in height. 

In managing their canoes they kneel two and two 
along the bottom, sitting on their heels, and wielding 
paddles from four to five feet long, while one sits on the 
stern and steers with a paddle of the same kind. The 
women are equally expert with the men in managing 
the canoe, and generally take the helm. 

It is surprising to see with what fearless unconcern 
these savages venture in their light barks upon the 
roughest and most tempestuous seas. They seem to 
ride upon the waves like sea-fowl. Should a surge throw 
the canoe upon its side arid endanger its overturn, those 
to windward lean over the upper gunwale, thrust their 
paddles deep into the wave, apparently catch the water 
and force it under the canoe, and by this action not 
merely regain an equilibrium, but give their bark a vig- 
orous impulse forward. 

The eflect of different modes of life upon the human 
frame and human character is strikingly instanced in the 
contrast between the hunting Indians of the prairies, and 
the piscatory Indians of the sea-coast. The former, con- 
tinually on horseback scouring the plains, gaining their 
food by hardy exercise, and subsisting chiefly on flesh, 
are generally tall, sinewy, meager, but well formed, and 
of bold and fierce deportment : the latter, lounging about 
the river banks, or squatting and curved up in their ca- 
noes, are generally low in stature, ill-shaped, with crooked 
legs, thick ankles, and broad flat feet. They are inferior 
also in muscular power and activity, and in game quali- 
ties and appearance, to their hard-riding brethren of the 
prairies. 

At one part of the river, they passed, on the northern 
side, an isolated rock, about one hundred and fifty feet 



96 THE CRAYON KEADINO BOOK. 

high, rising from a low marshy soil, and totally discon- 
nected with the adjacent mountains. This was held in 
great reverence by the neighboring Indians, being one of 
their principal places of sepulture. The same provident 
care for the deceased that prevails among the hunting 
tribes of the prairies is observable among the piscatory 
tribes of the rivers and sea-coast. Among the former, the 
favorite horse of the hunter is buried with him in the 
same funereal mound, and his bow and arrows are laid 
by his side, that he may be perfectly equipped for the 
"happy hunting grounds'' of the land of spirits. Among 
the latter, the Indian is wrapped in his mantle of skins, 
laid in his canoe, with his paddle, his fishing spear, and 
other implements beside him, and placed aloft on some 
rock or other eminence overlooking the river, or bay, or 
lake, that he has frequented. He is thus fitted out to 
launch away upon those placid streams and sunny lakes 
stocked with all kinds of fish and waterfowl, which are 
prepared in the next world for those who have acquitted 
themselves as good sons, good fathers, good husbands, 
and, above all good fishermen, during their mortal so- 
journ. 

The isolated rock in question presented a spectacle of 
the kind, numerous dead bodies being deposited in canoes 
on its summit ; while on poles around were trophies, or, 
rather, funereal offerings of trinkets, garments, baskets of 
roots, and other articles, for the use of the deceased. A 
reverential leeling protects these sacred spots from robbery 
or insult. The friends of the deceased, especially the 
women, repair here at sunrise and sunset for some time 
after his death, siui^in^ his funeral dirge, and uttering 
loud wailin^s and lamentations. 



FLIGHT OF PIGEONS. 97 



Flight of Pigeons. 

The pigeons too were filling the woods in vast migra- 
tory flocks. It is almost incredible to describe the prodi- 
gions flights of these birds in the western wilderness. 
They appear absolutely in crowds, and move with aston- 
ishing velocity, their wings making a whistling sound as 
they fly. The rapid evolutions of these flocks, wheeling 
and shifting suddenly as with one mind and one im- 
pulse ; the flashing changes of color they present, as their 
backs, their breasts, or the under parts of their wings are 
turned to the spectator, are singularly pleasing. When 
they alight, if on the ground, they cover whole acres at 
a time ; if upon trees, the branches often break beneath 
their weight. If suddenly startled while feeding in the 
midst of a forest, the noise they make in getting on the 
wing is like the roar of a cataract or the sound of distant 
thunder. 

A flight of this kind, like an Egyptian flight of lo- 
custs, devours every thing that serves for food as it passes 
along. So great were the numbers in the vicinity of the 
camp that Mr. Bradbury, in the course of a morning's 
excursion, shot nearly three hundred with a fowling- 
piece. He gives a curious, though apparently a faithful, 
account of the kind of discipline observed in these im- 
mense flocks, so that each may have a chance of picking 
up food. As the front ranks must meet with the greatest 
abundance, and the rear ranks must have scanty pick- 
ings, the instant a rank finds itself the hindmost, it rises 
in the air, flies over the whole flock, and takes its place in 
the advance. The next rank follows in its course, and 
thus tlie last is continually becoming first, and all by 
turns have a front place at the banquet. 

5 



98 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 



Early Adventures among the Indians of the Rocky 
JMountains. 

On the afternoon of the following day (June 1st) they 
arrived at the great bend, where the river winds for about 
thirty miles round a circular peninsula, the neck of which 
is not above two thousand yards across. On the succeed- 
ing morning, at an early hour, they descried two Indians 
standing on a high bank of the river, waving and spread- 
ing their buti'alo robes in signs of amity. Tliey imme- 
diately pulled to shore and landed. On approaching the 
savages, however, the latter showed evident symptoms 
of alarm, spreading out their arms horizontally, according 
to their mode of supplicating clemency. The reason was 
soon explained. They proved to be two chiefs of the 
very war- party that had brought Messrs. Crooks and 
M'Lellan to a stand two years before, and obliged them 
to escape down the river. They ran to embrace these 
gentlemen, as if delighted to meet with them ; yet they 
evidently feared some retaliation of their past misconduct, 
nor were they quite at ease until the pipe of peace had 
been smoked. 

Mr. Hunt, having been informed that the tribe to 
which these men belonged had killed three white men 
during the preceding summer, reproached them with the 
crime, and demanded their reasons for such savage hos- 
tility. '• "NVe kill white men," replied one of the chiefs, 
" because white men kill us. That very man." added 
he, pointing to Carson, one of the new recruits, " killed 
one of our brothers last summer. The three white men 
were slain to avenge his death." 

The chief was correct in his reply. Carson admitted 
that, being with a party of Arickaras on the banks of the 



ROCKY MOUNTAIN ADVENTURES. 99 

Missouri, and seeing a war party of Sioux on the oppo- 
site side, he had fired with his rifle across. It was a 
random shot, made without much expectation of effect, 
for the river was full half a mile in breadth. Unluckily, 
it brought down a Sioux warrior, for whose wanton 
destruction threefold vengeance had been taken, as has 
been stated. In this way outrages arc frequently com- 
mitted on the natives by thoughtless or mischievous 
white men ; tlu^ Indians retaliate according to a law of 
their code, which requires blood for blood ; their act, of 
what with them is pious vengeance, resounds throughout 
the laud, and is represented as wanton and unprovoked ; 
the ncighbojhood is roused to arms ; a war ensues, which 
ends in the destruction of half the tribe, the ruin of the 
rest, and their expulsion from their hereditary homes. 
Such is too often the real history of Indian warfare, 
which in general is traced up only to some vindictive 
act of a savage ; while the outrage of the scoundrel 
white man that provoked it is sunk in silence. 

The two chiefs, having smoked their pipe of peace 
and received a few presents, departed well satisfied. In 
a little while two others appeared on horseback, and rode 
up abreast of the boats. They had seen the presents 
given to their comrades, but were dissatisfied with them, 
and came after the boats to ask for more. Being some- 
what peremptory and insolent in their demands, Mr. 
Hunt gave them a flat refusal, and threatened, if they or 
any of their tribe followed him with similar demands, to 
treat them as enemies. Tliey turned and rode off in a 
furious passion. As he was ignorant what force these 
chiefs might have behind the hills, and as it was very 
possible they might take advantage of some pass of the 
river to attack the boats, Mr. Hunt called all stragglers 
on board and pi'epared for such emergency. It was 



100 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

agreed that the large boat, commanded by Mr. Himi, 
should ascend along the northeast side of the river, and 
the three smaller boats along tlie south side. By this 
aiTangement each party would command a view of the 
opposite heights above the heads and out of sight of their 
companions, and could give the alarm should they per- 
ceive any Indians lurking there. The signal of alarm 
was to be two shots fired in quick succession. 

The boats proceeded for the greater part of the day 
without seeing any signs of an enemy. About fom* 
o'clock in the afternoon the large boat, commanded by 
Mr. Hmit. came to where the river was divided by a 
long sand-bar. which apparently, however, left a suffi- 
cient channel between it and the shore along wliich they 
were advancing. He kept up this chamiel. therefore, for 
some distance, until the water proved too shallow for the 
boat. It was necessary, therefore, to put about, return 
down the channel, and pull round the lower end of the 
sand-bar into the main stream. Just as he had given 
orders to this eflect to his men, two signal-guns were 
fired from the boats on the opposite side of the river. At 
the same time a file of savage warriors Avas observed 
pouring down from the impending bank, and gathering 
on the shore at the lower end of the bar. They were 
evidently a war party, being armed A\ith bows and ar- 
rows, battle clubs and carbines, and roimd bucklers of 
buffalo hide, and their naked bodies were painted with 
black and white stripes. The natural inference was, 
that they belonged to the two tribes of Sioux which had 
been expected by the great war party, and that they had 
been incited to hostility by the two chiefs who had been 
enraged by the refusal and menace of 31r. Hunt. Here 
then was a fearful predicament. Mr. Hunt and his crew 
seemed caught, as it were, in a trap. The Indians, to 



ROCKY MOUNTAIN ADVENTURES. 101 

tlie number of about a hundred, had ah'eady taken pos- 
session of a point near which the boat would have to 
pass : others kept pouring down the bank, and it was 
probable that some would remain posted on the top of 
the height. 

The hazardous situation of Mr. Hunt was perceived 
by those in the other boats, and they hastened to his 
assistance. They were at some distance above the sand- 
bar, however, and on the opposite side of the river, and 
saw, with intense anxiety, the number of savages con- 
tinually augmenting at the lower end of the channel, so 
that the boat would be exposed to a fearful attack before 
they could render it any assistance. Their anxiety in- 
creased, as they saw Mr. Hunt and his party descending 
the channel and dauntlessly approaching the point of 
danger ; but it suddenly changed into surprise on be- 
holding the boat pass close by the savage horde mimo- 
lested, and steer out safely into the broad river. 

The next moment the whole band of warriors was in 
motion. They ran along the bank until they were oppo- 
site to the boats, then throwing by their weapons and 
buffalo robes, plunged into the river, waded and swam 
off to the boats and surrounded them in crowds, seeking 
to shake hands with every individual on board ; for the 
Indians have long since found this to be the white man's 
token of amity, and they carry it to an extreme. 

All uneasiness was now at an end. The Indians 
proved to be a war party of Arickaras, Mandans, and 
Minnetarees, consisting of three hundred warriors, and 
bound on a foray against the Sioux. Their war plans were 
abandoned for the present, and they determined to return 
to the Arickara town, where they hoped to obtain from 
the white men arms and ammunition that would enable 
them to take the field with advantage over their enemies. 



102 THE CRAYON" READING BOOK. 

The boats now sought the first convenient place for 
encampina:. The tents were pitched ; the warriors fixed 
their camp at about a hundred yards distant ; provisions 
were furnished from the boats sufficient for all parties ; 
there was hearty though rude feasting in both camps, 
and in the evening the red warriors entertained their 
white friends with dances and songs, that lasted until 
after midnight. 



All Indian Council Lodge. 

At length they arrived at the council lodge. It was 
somewhat spacious, and formed of four forked trunks of 
trees placed upright, supporting cross-beams and a frame 
of poles interwoven with osiers, and the whole covered 
with earth. A hole sunken in the centre formed the 
fireplace, and immediately above was a circular hole in 
the apex of the lodge, to let out the smoke and let in the 
daylight. Around the lodge were recesses for sleeping, 
like the berths on board ships, screened from view by 
curtains of dressed skins. At the upper end of the lodge 
was a kind of hunting and warlike trophy, consisting 
of two butlalo heads garishly painted, surmounted by 
shields, bows, quivers of arrows, and other weapons. 

On entering the lodge the chief pointed to mats or 
cusliions whicli had been placed around for the strangers, 
and on which they seated themselves, while he placed 
himself on a kind of stool. An old man then came for- 
ward with the pipe of peace or good-fellowship, lighted 
and handed it to the chief, and then talhng back, 
squatted himself near the door. The pipe was passed 
from mouth to mouth, each one taking a whiff, which is 



AN INDIAN COIINCIL LODGE. 103 

equivalent to the inviolable pledge of faith, of taking salt 
together among the ancient Britons, The chief then 
made a sign to the old pipe-bearer, who seemed to fill, 
hkewise, the station of herald, seneschal, and public 
crier, for he ascended to the top of the lodge to make 
proclamation. Here he took his post beside the aperture 
for the emission of smoke, and the admission of light ; 
the chief dictated from within what he was to proclaim, 
and he bawled it forth with a force of lungs that re- 
sounded over all the village. In this way he summoned 
the warriors and great men to council ; every now and 
then reporting progress to his chief through the hole in 
the roof 

In a little while the braves and sages began to enter 
one by one as their names were called or announced, 
emerging from under the buffalo robe suspended over the 
entrance instead of a door, stalking across the lodge to 
the skins placed on the floor, and crouching down on 
them in silence. In this way twenty entered and took 
their seats, forming an assemblage worthy of the pencil ; 
for the Arickaras are a noble race of men, large and well 
formed, and maintain a savage grandeur and gravity of 
demeanor in their solemn ceremonials. 

All being seated, the old seneschal prepared the pipe 
of ceremony or council, and having lit it, handed it to the 
chief He inhaled the sacred smoke, gave a puff upward 
to the heaven, then downward to the earth, then towards 
the east ; after this it was as usual passed from mouth to 
mouth, each holding it respectfully until his neighbor 
had taken several whiffs ; and now the grand council 
was considered as opened in due form. 

The cliief made an harangue welcoming the white 
men to his village, and expressing his happiness in 
taking them by the hand as friends ; but at the same 



104 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

time complaining of the poverty of himself and his 
people ; the usual prelude among Indians to begging or 
hard bargaining. 

Lisa rose to reply, and the eyes of Hunt and his com- 
panions were eagerly turned upon him, those of M'Lellan 
glaring like a basilisk's. He began by the usual ex- 
pressions of friendship, and then proceeded to explain the 
object of his own party. Those persons, however, said 
he, pointing to Mr. Hunt and his companions, are of a 
dillerent party, and are quite distinct in their views ; but, 
added he, though we are separate parties, we make but 
one connnon cause when the safety of either is concerned. 
Any injury or insult oliered to them I shall consider as 
done to myself, and will resent it accordingly. .1 trust, 
therefore, that you will treat them with the same friend- 
ship that you have always manifested for me, doing 
every thing in your power to serve them and to help 
them on their way. The speech of Lisa, delivered with 
an air of frankness and sincerity, agreeably surprised and 
disappointed the rival party. 

Mr. Hunt then spoke, declaring the object of his 
journey to the great Salt Lake beyond the mountains, 
and that he should want horses for the purpose, for which 
he was ready to trade, having brought with him plenty 
of goods. Both he and liisa concluded their speeches by 
making presents of tobacco. 

The left-handed chieftain in reply promised his friend- 
ship and aid to the new comers, and welcomed them to 
his village. He added that they had not the number of 
horses to spare that Blr. Hunt required, and expressed a 
doubt whether they should be able to part with any. 
Upon this, another chietUiin, called Gray Eyes, made a 
speech, and declared that they could readily supply Mr. 
Hunt with all the horses he might want, since, if they 



AN INDIAN COUNCIL LODGE. 105 

had not enough in the village, they could easily steal 
more. This honest expedient immediately removed the 
main difficulty ; but the chief delerrcd all trading for a 
day or two, until he should have time to consult with his 
subordinate chiefs, as to market rates ; for the principal 
chief of a village, in conjunction with his council, usually 
fixes the prices at which articles shall be bought and 
sold, and to them the village must conform. 

The council now broke up. Mr. Hunt transferred 
his crffnp across the river !it a liltlo distance below the 
village, and the left-handed chief placed some of his 
warriors as a guard to prevent the intrusion of any of his 
people. The camp was pitched on the river bank just 
above the boats. The tents, and the men wrapped in 
their blankets and bivouacking on skins in the open air, 
surrounded the baggage at night. Four sentinels also 
kept watch within sight of each other outside of the 
camp until midnight, when they were relieved by four 
others who mounted guard imtil daylight. Mr. Lisa 
encamped near to Mr. Hunt, between him and the 
village. 

The speech of Mr. Lisa in the council had produced 
a pacific effect in the encampment. Though the sin- 
cerity of his friendship and good-will towards the new 
company still remained matter of doubt, he was no 
longer suspected of an intention to play false. The in- 
tercourse between the two leaders was, therefore, 
resumed, and the affairs of both parties went on har- 
moniously. 



106 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 



Domestic Life of an Indian. 

The life of an Indian when at home in his Aallage is 
a hfe of indolence and amusement. To the woman is 
consigned the labors of the household and the field ; she 
arranges the lodge ; brings wood for the fire ; cooks ; 
jerks venison and buffalo meat ; dresses the skins of the 
animals killed in the chase; cultivates the little patch of 
maize, pumpkins, and pulse, which furnishes a great part 
of their provisions. Their time for repose and recreation 
is at sunset, when the labors of the day being ended, 
they gather together to amuse themselves with petty 
games, or to hold gossiping convocations on the tops of 
their lodges. 

As to the Indian, he is a game animal, not to be 
degraded by useful or menial toil. It is enough that he 
exposes himself to the hardships of the chase and the 
perils of war ; that he brings home food for his family, 
and watches and fights for its protection. Every thing 
else is beneath his attention. When at home, he attends 
only to his weapons and his horses, preparing the means 
of future exploit. Or he engages with his comrades in 
games of dexterity, agility and strength ; or in gambling 
games in which every thing is put at hazard, with a 
recklessness seldom witnessed in civilized life. 

A great part of the idle leisure of the Indians when 
at home, is passed in groups, squatted together on the 
bank of a river, on the top of a mound on the prairie, or 
on the roof of one of their earth-covered lodges, talking 
over the news of the day, the aftairs of the tribe, the 
events and exploits of their last hunting or fighting ex- 
pedition ; or listening to the stories of old times told by 



RETURN OF A WAR PARTY. 107 

some veteran chronicler ; resembling a group of our vil- 
lage quidnuncs and politicians, listening to the prosings 
of some superannuated oracle, or discussing the contents 
of an ancient newspaper. 

As to the Indian women, they are far from complain- 
ing of their lot. On the contrary, they would despise 
their husbands could they stoop to any menial office, and 
would think it conveyed an imputation upon their own 
conduct. It is the worst insult one virago can cast upon 
another in a moment of altercation. " Infamous woman !" 
will she cry, " I have seen your husband carrying wood 
into his lodge to make the fire. Where was his squaw, 
that he should be obliged to make a woman of himself !" 



Return of a War Party. 



On the 9th of July, just before daybreak, a great noise 
and vociferation was heard in the village. This being 
the usual Indian hour of attack and surprise, and the 
Sioux being known to be in the neighborhood, the camp 
was instantly on the alert. As the day broke Indians 
were descried in considerable number on the blufts, three 
or four miles down the river. The noise and agitation 
in the village continued. The tops of the lodges were 
crowded with the inhabitants, all earnestly looking to- 
wards the hills, and keeping up a vehement chattering. 
Presently an Indian warrior galloped past the camp to- 
wards the village, and in a little while the legions began 
to pour forth. 

The truth of the matter was now ascertained. The 
Indians upon the d tant hills were three hundred Aric 



108 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

kara braves returning from a foray. They had met the 
war party of Sioux who had been so long hovering about 
the neighborhood, had fought them the day before, killed 
several, and defeated the rest with the loss of but two or 
three of their own men and about a dozen wounded ; and 
they were now halting at a distance until their comrades 
in the village should come forth to meet them, and swell 
the parade of their triumphal entry. The warrior who 
had galloped past the camp was the leader of the party, 
hastening home to give tidings of his victory. 

Preparations were now made for this great martial 
ceremony. All the finery and equipments of the Avar- 
riors were sent forth to them, that they might appear to 
the greatest advantage. Those, too, who had remained 
at home, tasked their wardrobes and toilets to do honor 
to the procession. 

The Arickaras generally go naked, but, like all sa- 
vages, they have their gala dress, of which they are not 
a little vain. This usually consists of a gray surcoat and 
leggins of the dressed skin of the antelope, resembling 
chamois leather, and embroidered with porcupine quills 
brilliantly dyed. A butialo robe is thrown over the right 
shoulder, and across the left is slung a quiver of arrows. 
They wear gay coronets of plumes, particularly those of 
the swan ; but the feathers of the black eagle are consi- 
dered the most worthy, being a sacred bird among the 
Indian warriors. He who has killed an enemy in his 
own land, is entitled to drag at his heels a fox-skin at- 
tached to each moccason ; and he who has slain a grizzly 
bear, wears a necklace of his claws, the most glorious 
trophy that a hunter can exhibit. 

An Indian toilet is an operation of some toil and 
trouble ; the warrior often has to paint himself from head 
to foot, and is extremely capricious and difficult to please, 



RETURN OF A WAR PARTY. 109 

as to the hideous distribution of streaks and colors. A 
great part of the morning, therefore, passed away before 
there were any signs of the distant pageant. In the 
meantime, a profound stilhiess reigned over the village. 
Most of the inhabitants had gone forth ; others remained 
in mute expectation. All sports and occupations were 
suspended, except that in the lodges the painstaking 
squaws were silently busied in preparing the repasts for 
the warriors. 

It was near noon that a mingled sound of voices and 
rude music, faintly heard from a distance, gave notice 
that the procession was on the march.' The old men and 
such of the squaws as could leave their employments 
hastened forth to meet it. In a little while it emerged 
from behind a hill, and had a wild and picturesque ap- 
pearance as it came moving over the summit in measured 
step, and to the cadence of songs and savage instruments ; 
the warlike standards and trophies flaunting aloft, and 
the feathers, and paint, and silver ornaments of the war- 
riors glaring and glittering in the sunshine. 

The pageant had really something chivalrous in its 
arrangement. The Arickaras are divided into several 
bands, each bearing the name of some animal or bird, as 
the buffalo, the bear, the dog, the pheasant. The present 
party consisted of four of these bands, one of which was 
the dog, the most esteemed in war, being composed of 
young men under thirty, and noted for prowess. It is 
engaged on the most desperate occasions. The bands 
marched in separate bodies under their several leaders. 
The warriors on foot came first, in platoons of ten or 
twelve abreast ; then the horsemen. Each band bore as 
an ensign a spear or bow decorated with beads, porcupine 
quills, and painted feathers. Each bore its trophies of 
scalps, elevated on poles, their long black locks streaming 



110 THE CUAYOiN liEADING BOOK. 

in the wind. Each was accompanied by its rude music 
and minstrelsy. In this way the procession extended 
nearly a quarter of a mile. The warriors were variously 
armed, some few with guns, others with bows and ar- 
rows, and war clubs ; all had shields of buffalo hide, a 
kind of defence general ly used by the Indians of the open 
prairies, who have not the covert of trees and forests to 
protect them. They were painted in the most savage 
style. Some had the stamp of a red hand across their 
mouths, a sign that they had drunk the life-blood of a 
foe! 

As they drew near to the village the old men and the 
women began to meet them, and now a scene ensued that 
proved the fallacy of the old fable of Indian apathy and 
stoicism. Parents and children, husbands and wives, 
brothers and sisters, met with the most rapturous expres- 
sions of joy ; while wailings and lamentations were heard 
from the relatives of the killed and wounded. The pro- 
cession, however, continued on with slow and measured 
step, in cadence to the solemn chant, and the warriors 
maintained their fixed and stern demeanor. 

Between two of the principal chiefs rode a young 
warrior who had distinguished himself in battle. He was 
severely wounded, so as with difficulty to keep on his 
horse ; but he preserved a serene and steadfast counte- 
nance, as if perfectly unharmed. His mother had heard 
of his condition. She broke through the throng, and 
rushing up, threw her arms around him and wept aloud. 
He kept up the spirit and demeanor of a warrior to the 
last, but expired shortly after he had reached his home. 

The village was now a scene of the utmost festivity 
and triumph. The banners, and trophies, and scalps, 
and painted shields, were elevated on poles near the 
lodges, ''['here were war-feasts, and scalp-dances, with 



THE WILDERNESS OF THE FAR WEST. 1 1 1 

warlike songs and savage music ; all the inhabitants 
were arrayed in their festal dresses ; while the old heralds 
went round from lodge to lodge, promulgating with loud 
voices the events of the battle and the exploits of the va- 
rious warriors. 

Such was the boisterous revelry of the village ; but 
sounds of another kind were heard on the surrounding 
hills ; piteous wailings of the women, who had retired 
thither to mourn in darkness and solitude for those who 
had fallen in battle. There the poor mother of the youth- 
ful warrior who had returned home in triumph but to die, 
gave full vent to the anguish of a mother's heart. How 
much does this custom among the Indian women of re- 
pairing to the hill tops in the night, and pouring forth 
their wailings for the dead, call to mind the beautiful and 
affecting passage of Scripture, " In Rama was there a voice 
heard, lamentation, and weeping, and great mourning, 
Rachel weeping for her children, and would not be com- 
forted, because they are not." 



The Wilderness of the Far West. 

While Mr. Hunt was diligently preparing for his ar- 
duous journey, some of his men began to lose heart at 
the perilous prospect before them; but, before we. accuse 
them of want of spirit, it is proper to consider the nature 
of the wilderness into which they were about to adventure. 
It was a region almost as vast and trackless as the ocean, 
and, at the time of which we treat, but little known, ex- 
cepting through the vague accounts of Indian hunters. 
A part of their route would lay across an immense tract, 



112 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

stiotching north and south for hundreds of miles along 
the foot of the Rocky Mountains, and drained by the tri- 
butary streams of the Missouri and Mississippi. This 
region, which resendiles one of tlie immeasurable steppes 
of Asia, has not inaptly been termed " the great American 
desert." It spreads forth into undulating and treeless 
plains, and desolate sandy wastes, wearisome to the eye 
from their extent and monotony, and which are supposed 
by geologists, to have formed the ancient lioor of the 
ocean, countless ages since, when its primeval waves 
beat against the granite bases of the Rocky Mountains. 

It is a land where no man permanently abides ; for, 
in certain seasons of the year there is no food either for 
the hunter or his steed. The herbage is parched and 
withenHl ; the brooks and streams are dried u{) ; the buf- 
falo, the elk and the deer have wantlered to distant parts, 
keeping within the verge of expiring verdure, and leav- 
ing behind them a vast uninhabited solitude, seamed by 
ravines, the beds of former torrents, but now serving oidy 
to tantalize and increase the thirst of the traveller. 

Occasionally the monotony of this vast wilderness is 
interrupted by mountainous belts of sand and limestone, 
broken into confused masses ; with precipitous cliffs and 
yawning ravines, looking like the ruins of a world ; or is 
traversed by lofty anil barren ridges of rock, almost im- 
passable, like those denominated the Black Hills. Be- 
yond these rise the stern barriers of the Rocky IMountains, 
tlu> limits, as it were, of the Atlantic world. The rugged 
defiles and deep valleys of this vast chain form shelter- 
ing places for restless and ferocious bands of savages, 
many of them the renmants of tribes, once inhabitants 
of the prairies, but broken up by war and violence, and 
who carry into their mountain haunts the fierce passions 
and reckless habits of desperadoes. 



Tin: WILDICItNKSH OF Tril': I'AR WKKT. 113 

Such is l,li(! ii;itiii(; oClliis iiuriicn.sc; vviltkirnoss of iho 
far West; vvliidi appaiciilly dcilics ciillivation, Jiiid llic 
habitation oi' c'\v'\\'v/a'a[ lifi;. Sonic portions (;f it along tho 
rivers may [)arlially he; siihdutid hy agriculture!, others 
may form vast pastoral tracts, like; IIkjsc; of tin; I'last; 
hni it is 1o ix; feared that a great part of it will Corm a 
lawless inl(;rval l)(!tvv(!(!ii the al)od(!S of civilized man, 
like the wastes of llu; ocean oi' tlu; desfuts of Arabia ; aufJ, 
like them, be subject to the de|)redations of IIk; niaraudiM'. 
I Icre may spring u[) n(!W and mongrel races, like n(;vv 
formations in g(;ol<jgy, the amalgamation of th<! "d(;bris'' 
and "abrasions" of former races, civilizcuj and savage;; 
tlie remains of broken and almost extinguished tribes; 
the descendants of wand(;ring hunters and lra[)|)(!rs; of 
fugitives from ihe Spanish and Aiufriean (loulicis; of 
advenlur(;rs and d(;s|)<!ra.do(;s of every class and country, 
y(!a.rly (;j(;cled I'rom llie bosom of society ijilo th(; wilder- 
n(!ss. W(; are contributing inc(;ssantly to swell this sin- 
gular and h(!t(;rog(!n(!()us (;loud of wild po[)ula.tion that is 
to hang about oiu' fronti(!i-, by the transfer of whoh; tribes 
of savages from the east of the Mississi[)pi to the great 
wastes of the; far West, Many of these l)ear witFi them 
the smart of real or fancied injuries ; many consider 
themselves expatriated beings, wrongfully exiled from 
their hereditary homes, and the scipulchres of their fa- 
thers, and cherish a d(!ep and a])iding animosity against 
the race that has dispossessed them. Some may gradu- 
ally become pastoral fiordes, like those rude and migratory 
[)f:ople, lialf shepherd, fialf warrior, who, with tlieir flocks 
tuid herds, rf)am tin; })la.iiis of upp(!r Asia ; f)ut others, it is 
to bo apprehended, will become predatory bands, moimted 
on tho fleet steeds of the prairies, with the open [tlains 
for their mara.nding grounds, and the moimtains fortlntir 
retreats and lurking-places. Here they may lesemble 



114 THE CKAYON READING BOOK. 

those great hordes of the north, " Gog and Magog with 
their bands," that haunted the gloomy imaginations of 
the prophets. "A great company and a mighty host, 
all riding upon horses, and warring upon those nations 
which were at rest, and dwelt peaceably, and had gotten 
cattle and goods." 

The Spaniards changed the whole character and 
habits of the Indians when they brought the horse 
among them. In Chili, Tucuman, and other parts, it 
has converted them, we are told, into Tartar-like tribes, 
and enabled them to keep the Spaniards out of their 
country, and even to make it dangerous for them to ven- 
ture far from their towns and settlements. Are we not 
in danger of producing some such state of things in the 
boundless regions of the far West ? That these are not 
mere fanciful and extravagant suggestions we have suffi- 
cient proofs in the dangers already experienced by the 
traders to the Spanish mart of Santa Fe, and to the dis- 
tant posts of the fur companies. These are obliged to 
proceed in armed caravans, and are subject to murderous 
attacks from bands of Pawnees, Camanches, and Black- 
feet, that come scouring upon them in their weary march 
across the plains, or lie in wait for them among the passes 
of the mountains. 



The Black Mountains. 

Mr. Hunt and his party were now on the skirts of 
the Black Hills, or Black Mountains, as they are some- 
times called ; an extensive chain, lying about a hundred 
miles east of the Rocky Mountains, and stretching in a 
northeast direction from the south fork of the Nebraska, 



THE BLACK MOUNTAINS. I 15 

or Platte River, to the great north bend of the Missouri. 
The Sierra or ridge of the Black Hills, in fact, forms the 
dividing line between the waters of the Missouri and 
those of the Arkansas and the Mississippi, and gives rise 
to the Cheyenne, the Little Missouri, and several tributary 
streams of the Yellowstone. 

The wild recesses of these hills, like those of the 
Rocky Mountains, are retreats and lurking-places for 
broken, and predatory tribes, and it was among them that 
the remnant of the Cheyenne tribe took refuge, as has 
been stated, from their conquering enemies, the Sioux. 

The Black Hills are chiefly composed of sandstone, 
and in many places are broken into savage clifls and 
precipices, and present the most singular and fantastic 
forms ; sometimes resembling towns and castellated for- 
tresses. The ignorant inhabitants of plains are prone to 
clothe the mountains that bound their horizon with fan- 
ciful and superstitious attributes. Thus the wandering 
tribes of the prairies, who often behold clouds gathering 
round the summits of these hills, and lightning flashing, 
and thunder pealing from them, when all the neighbor- 
ing plains arc serene and sunny, consider them the abode 
of the genii or thunder-spirits, who fabricate storms and 
tempests. On entering their defiles, therefore, they often 
hang oflerings on the trees, or place them on the rocks, 
to propitiate the invisible " lords of the mountains," and 
procure good weather and successful hunting ; and they 
attach unusual significance to the echoes which haunt 
the precipices. This superstition may also have arisen, 
in part, from a natural phenomenon of a singular nature. 
In the most calm and serene weather, and at all times of 
the day or night, successive reports are now and then 
heard among these mountains, resembling the discharge 
of several pieces of artillery. Similar reports were heard 



116 THE CKAYON READING BOOK. 

by Messrs. Lewis and Clarke in tlie Rocky Mountains, 
which, they say, were attributed by the Indians to the 
bursting of the rich mines of silver contained in the bosom 
of the mountains. 

In fact, these singular explosions have received fan- 
ciful explanations from learned men, and have not been 
satisfactorily accounted for even by philosophers. They 
are said to occur frequently in Brazil. Vasconcelles, a 
Jesuit father, describes one which he heard in the Sierra, 
or mountain region of Piratininga, and which he com- 
pares to the discharges of a park of artillcr3^ The 
Indians told him that it was an explosion of stones. 
The worthy father had soon a satisfactory proof of the 
truth of their information, for the very place was found 
where a rock had burst and exploded from its entrails a 
stony mass, like a bomb-shell, and of the size of a bull's 
heart. This mass was broken either in its ejection or 
its fall, and wondei'ful was the internal organization re- 
vealed. It had a shell harder even than iron ; within 
which were aiTanged, like the seeds of a pomegranate, 
jewels of various colors ; some transparent as crystal ; 
others of a fine red, and others of mixed hues. The 
same phenomenon is said to occur occasionally in the 
adjacent province of Guayra, where stones of the bigness 
of a man's hand are exploded, with a loud noise, from 
the bosom of the earth, and scatter about glittering and 
beautiful fragments that look like precious gems, but are 
of no value. 

The mountain which now towered above them was 
one of the Big Horn chain, bordered by a river of the 
same name, and extending for a long distance rather east 
of north and west of south. It was a part of the great 
system of granite mountains which forms one of the most 
important and striking features of North America, stretch- 



THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS. 117 

ing parallel to the coast of the Pacific from the Isthmus 
of Panama almost to the Arctic Ocean ; and presenting 
a corresponding chain to that of the Andes in the south- 
ern hemisphere. This vast range has acquired, from its 
rugged and broken character, and its summits of naked 
granite, the appellation of the Rocky Mountains, a name 
by no means distinctive, as all elevated ranges are rocky. 
Among tlie early explorers it was known as the range of 
Chippewyan Mountains, and this Indian name is the one 
it is likely to retain in poetic usage. Rising from the 
midst of vast plains and prairies, traversing several de- 
grees of latitude, dividing the waters of the Atlantic and 
the Pacific, and seeming to bind, with diverging ridges, 
the level regions on its flanks, it has been figm-atively 
termed the back-bone of the northern continent. 

The Rocky Mountains do not present a range of uni- 
form elevation, but rather groups and occasionally de- 
tached peaks. Though some of these rise to the region 
of perpetual snows, and are upwards of eleven thousand 
feet in real altitude, yet their height from their immediate 
basis is not so great as might be imagined, as they swell 
up from elevated plains, several thousand feet above the 
level of the ocean. These plains are often of a desolate 
sterility ; mere sandy wastes, formed of the detritus of the 
granite heights, destitute of trees ai:^i herbage, scorched 
by the ardent and reflected rays of the summer's sun, 
and, in winter, swept by chilling blasts from the sliow- 
clad mountains. Such is a great part of that vast region 
extending north and south along the mountains, several 
hundred miles in width, which has not improperly been 
termed the Great American Desert. It is a region that 
almost discourages all hope of cultivation, and can only 
be traversed with safety by keeping near the streams 
which intersect it. Extensive plains likewise occur 



118 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

among the higher regions of the mountains, of considera- 
ble fertihty. Indeed, these lofty plats of table-land seem 
to form a peculiar feature in the American continents. 
Some occur among the Cordilleras of the Andes, where 
cities, and towns, and cultivated farms, are to be seen 
eight thousand feet above the level of the sea. 

The Rocky Mountains, as we have already observed, 
occur sometimes singly or in groups, and occasionally in 
collateral ridges. Between these are deep valleys, with 
small streams winding through them, which find their 
way into the lower plains, augmenting as they proceed, 
and ultimately discharging themselves into those vast 
rivers, which traverse the prairies like great arteries, and 
drain the continent. 

While the granite summits of the Rocky Mountains 
are bleak and bare, many of the inferior ridges are scan- 
tily clothed with scrubbed pines, oaks, cedar, and furze. 
Various parts of the mountains also bear traces of vol- 
canic action. Some of the interior valleys are strewed 
with scoria and broken stones, evidently of volcanic ori- 
gin ; the surrounding rocks bear the like character, and 
vestiges of extinguished craters are to be seen on the 
elevated heights. 

We have already noticed the superstitious feelings 
with which the Indians regard the Black Hill ; but this 
immense range of mountains, which divides all that they 
know of the world, and gives birth to such mighty rivers, 
is still more an object of awe and veneration. They call 
it " the crest of the world," and think that Wacondah, or 
the master of life, as they designate the Supreme Being, 
has his residence among these aerial heights. The tribes 
on the eastern prairies call them the mountains of the 
setting sun. Some of them place the " happy hunting- 
grounds," their ideal paradise, among the recesses of these 



CLIMATE AND PRODUCTIONS OF OREGON. 119 

mountains ; but say that they are invisible to living men. 
Here also is the "Land of Souls," in which are the "towns 
of the free and generous spirits," where those who have 
pleased the master of life while living, enjoy after death 
all manner of delights. 

Wonders are told of these mountains by the distant 
tribes, whose warriors or hunters have ever wandered in 
their neighborhood. It is thought by some that, after 
death, they will have to travel to these mountains and 
ascend one of their highest and most rugged peaks, among 
rocks and snows and tumbling torrents. After many 
moons of painful toil they will reach the summit, from 
whence they will have a view over the land of souls. 
There they will see the happy hunting-grounds, with the 
souls of the brave and good living in tents in green mea- 
dows, by bright running streams, or hunting the herds 
of buffalo, and elks, and deer, which have been slain on 
earth. There, too, they will see the villages or towns of 
the free and generous spirits brightening in the midst .of 
delicious prairies. If they have acquitted themselves 
well while living, they will be permitted to descend and 
enjoy this happy country ; if otherwise, they will but be 
tantalized with this prospect of it, and then hurled back 
from the mountain to wander about the sandy plains, 
and endure the eternal pangs of unsatisfied thirst and 
hunger. 



Climate and Productions of Oregon. 

The winter had passed awa/ tranquilly at Astoria. 
The apprehensions of hostility from the natives had sub- 
sided ; indeed, as the season advanced, the Indians for 



120 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

the most part had disappeared from the neighborhood, 
and abandoned the sea-coast, so that, for want of tlieir 
aid, the colonists had at times sufiered considerably for 
want of provisions. The hunters belonging to the estab- 
lishment made frequent and wide excursions, but with 
very moderate success. There were some deer and a few 
bears to be found in the vicinity, and elk in great num- 
bers ; the country, however, was so rough, and the woods 
so close and entangled, that it was almost impossible to 
beat up the game. The prevalent rains of winter, also, 
rendered it difficult for the hunter to keep his arms in or- 
der. The quantity of game, therefore, brought in by the 
hunters was extremely scanty, and it was frequently ne- 
cessary to put all hands on very moderate allowance. 
Towards spring, however, the fishing season commenced 
— the season of plenty on the Columbia. About the be- 
ginning of February, a small kind of fish, about six inches 
long, called by the natives the uthlecan, and resembling 
the smelt, made its appearance at the mouth of the river. 
It is said to be of delicious flavor, and so fat as to burn 
like a candle, for which it is often used by the natives. 
It enters the river in immense shoals, like solid columns, 
often extending to the depth of five or more feet, and is 
scooped up by the natives with small nets at the end of 
poles. In this way they will soon fill a canoe, or form a 
great heap upon the river banks. These fish constitute 
a principal article of their food ; the women drying them 
and stringing them on cords. As the uthlecan is only 
found in the lower part of the river, the arrival of it soon 
brought back the natives to the coast ; who again resorted 
to the factory to trade, and from that time fin-nished plen- 
tiful supplies of fish. 

The sturgeon makes its appearance in the river 
shortly after the uthlecan, aud is taken in different ways, 



CLIMATE AND PRODUCTIONS OF OREGON. 121 

by the natives ; sometimes they spear it ; but oftener 
they use the hook and hue, and the net. Occasionally, 
they sink a cord in the river by a heavy weight, with a 
buoy at the upper end, to keep it floating. To this cord 
several hooks are attached by short lines, a few feet dis- 
tant from each other, and baited with small fish. This 
apparatus is often set towards night, and by the next 
morning several sturgeon will be found hooked by it ; for 
though a large and strong fish, it makes but little resist- 
ance when ensnared. 

The salmon, which are the prime fish of the Colum- 
bia, and as important to the piscatory tribes as are the 
buffaloes to the hunters of the prairies, do not enter the 
river until towards the latter part of May, from which 
time, until the middle of August, they abound, and are 
taken in vast quantities, either with the spear or seine, 
and mostly in shallow water. An inferior species 
succeeds, and continues from August to December. It 
is remarkable for having a double row of teeth, half an 
inch long and extremely sharp, from whence it has 
received the name of the dog-toothed salmon. It is 
generally killed with the spear in small rivulets, and 
smoked for winter provision. We have noticed in a for- 
mer chapter the mode in which the salmon are taken and 
cured at the falls of the Columbia ; and put up in par- 
cels for exportation. From these different fisheries of 
the river tribes, the establishment at Astoria had to derive 
much of its precarious supplies of provisions. 

A year's residence at the mouth of the Columbia, and 
various expeditions in the interior, had now given the 
Astorians some idea of the country. The whole coast is 
described as remarkably rugged and mountainous ; with 
dense forests of hemlock, spruce, white and red cedar, 
cotton-wood, white oak, white and swamp ash, willow, 

6 



122 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

and a few walnut. There is likewise an undergrowtli 
of aromatic shrubs, creepers, and clambering vines, that 
render the forests almost impenetrable ; together with 
berries of various kinds, such as gooseberries, straw- 
berries, raspberries, both red and yellow, very large and 
finely flavored whortleberries, cranberries, serviceberries, 
blackberries, currants, sloes, and wild and choke cherries. 

Among the flowering vines is one deserving of par- 
ticular notice. Each flower is composed of six leaves or 
petals, about three inches in length, of a beautiful crimson, 
the inside spotted with white. Its leaves, of a fine green, 
are oval, and disposed by threes. This plant climbs 
upon the trees without attaching itself to them ; when it 
has reached the topmost branches, it descends perpen- 
dicularly, and as it continues to grow, extends from tree 
to tree, until its various stalks interlace the grove like the 
rigging of a ship. The stems or trunks of this vine are 
tougher and more flexible than willow, and are from 
fifty to one hundred fathoms in length. From the fibres, 
the Indians manufacture baskets of such close texture as 
to hold water. 

The principal quadrupeds that had been seen by the 
colonists in their various expeditions, were the stag, 
fallow deer, hart, black and grizzly bear, antelope, 
ahsahta, or bighorn, beaver, sea and river otter, muskrat, 
fox, wolf, and panther, the latter extremely rare. The 
only domestic animals among the natives were horses 
and dogs. 

The country abounded with aquatic and land birds, 
such as swans, wild geese, brant, ducks of almost every 
description, pelicans, herons, gulls, snipes, curlews, eagles, 
vultures, crows, ravens, magpies, woodpeckers, pigeons, 
partridges, pheasants, grouse, and a great variety of sing- 
ing birds. 



CLIMATE AND PRODUCTIONS OF OREGON. 123 

There were few reptiles ; the only dangerous kinds 
were the rattlesnalie, and one striped with black, yellow, 
and white, about four feet long. Among the lizard kind 
was one about nine or ten inches in length, exclusive of 
the tail, and three inches in circumference. The tail was 
round, and of the same length as the body. The head 
was triangular, covered with small square scales. The 
upper part of the body was likewise covered with small 
scales, green, yellow, black, and blue. Each foot had 
five toes, furnished with strong nails, probably to aid it 
in burrowing, as it usually lived under ground on the 
plains. 

A remarkable fact, characteristic of the country west 
of the Rocky Mountains, is the mildness and equability 
of the climate. That great mountain barrier seems to 
divide the continent into different climates, even in the 
same degree of latitude. The rigorous winters and 
sultry summers, and all the capricious inequalities of 
temperature prevalent on the Atlantic side of the moun- 
tains, are but little felt on their western declivities. The 
countries between them and the Pacific are blessed with 
milder and steadier temperature, resembling the climates 
of parallel latitudes in Europe. In the plains and val- 
leys but little snow falls throughout the winter, and 
usually melts while falling. It rarely lies on the ground 
more than two days at a time, except on the summits of 
the mountains. The winters are rainy rather than cold. 
The rains for five months, from the middle of October to 
the middle of March, are almost incessant, and often 
accompanied by tremendous thunder and lighting. The 
winds prevalent at this season are from the south and 
southeast, which usually bring rain. Those from the 
north to the southwest are the harbingers of fair weather 
and a clear sky. The residue of the year, from the mid- 



124 THE CRAYON HEADING BOOK. 

die of March to the middle of October, an interval of seven 
months, is serene and delightful. There is scarcely any 
rain throughout this time, yet the face of the country is 
kept fresh and verdant by nightly dews, and occasion- 
ally by humid fogs in the mornings. These are not 
considered prejudicial to health, since both the natives 
and the whites sleep in the open air with perfect im- 
punity. While this equable and bland temperature pre- 
vails throughout the lower country, the peaks and ridges 
of the vast mountains by which it is dominated, are 
covered with perpetual snow. This renders them dis- 
cernible at a great distance, shining at times like bright 
summer clouds, at other times assuming the most aerial 
tints, and always forming brilliant and striking features 
in the vast landscape. The mild temperature prevalent 
throughout the country is attributed by some to the suc- 
cession of winds, from the Pacific Ocean, extending from 
latitude twenty degrees to at least fifty degrees north. 
These temper the heat of summer, so that in the shade 
no one is incommoded by perspiration ; they also soften 
the rigors of winter, and produce such a moderation in 
the climate, that the inhabitants can wear the same dress 
throughout the year. 

The soil in the neighborhood of the sea-coast is of a 
brown color, inclining to red, and generally poor ; being 
a mixture of clay and gravel. In the interior, and espe- 
cially in the valleys of the Rocky Mountains, the soil is 
generally blackish ; though sometimes yellow. It is fre- 
quently mixed with marl, and with marine substances 
in a state of decomposition. This kind of soil extends to 
a considerable depth, as may be perceived in the deep 
cuts made by ravines, and by the beds of rivers. The 
vegetation in these valleys is much more abundant than 
near the coast ; in fact, it is in these fertile intervals. 



THE PAWNEE HUNTING GROUNDS. 125 

locked lip between rocky sierras, or scooped out from 
barren wastes, that population must extend itself, as it 
were, in veins and ramifications, if ever the regions be- 
yond the mountains should become civilized. 



The Pawnee Hunting Grounds. 

In the often vaunted regions of the Far West, several 
hundred miles beyond the Mississippi, extends a vast 
tract of uninhabited country, where there is neither to be 
seen the log house of the Avhite man, nor the wigwam of 
the Indian. It consists of great grassy plains, inter- 
spersed with forests and groves, and clumps of trees, and 
watered by the Arkansas, the grand Canadian, the Red 
River, and their tributary streams. Over these fertile and 
verdant wastes still roam the elk, the butfalo, and the 
wild horse, in all their native freedom. These, in fact, 
are the hunting grounds of the various tribes of the Far 
West. Hither repair the Osage, the Creek, the Delaware 
and other tribes that have linked themselves with civil- 
ization, and live within the vicinity of the white settle- 
ments. Here resort also, the Pawnees, the Comanches, 
and other fierce, and as yet independent tribes, the 
nomades of the prairies, or the inhabitants of the skirts 
of the Rocky Mountains, The regions I have mentioned 
form a debatable ground of these warring and vindictive 
tribes ; none of them presimie to erect a permanent habi- 
tation within its borders. Their hunters and "Braves" 
repair (hither in numerous bodies during the season of 
game, throw up their transient hmiting camps, consisting 
of light bowers covered with bark and skins, commit sad 



126 THK CUAVUN UEADING IJOOK. 

havoc among the iiiuunierable herds that graze the 
prairies, and having loaded themselves with venison and 
bntlalo meat, warily retire from the dangerous neighbor- 
hood. These expeditions partake, always, pf a warlike 
character ; the hunters are all armed for action, offensive 
and defensive, and are bound to incessant vigilance. 
Should they, in their excursions, meet the hunters of an 
adverse tribe, savage conflicts take place. Their encamp- 
ments, too, are always subject to be sin-prised by wander- 
ing war parties, and their hunters, when scattered in 
pursuit of game, to be captured or massacred by lurking 
foes. Mouldering skulls and skeletons, bleaching in 
some dark ravine, or near the traces of a hunting camp, 
occasionally mark the scene of a foregone act of blood, 
and let the wanderer know the dangerous nature of the 
region he is traversing. 



A Night Sce?ie on the Prairies. 

The rangers bivouacked under trees, at the bot- 
tom of the dell, while we pitched our tent on a rocky 
knoll near a running stream. The night came on dark 
and overcast, with flying clouds, and much appearance 
of rain. The fires of the rangers burnt brightly in the 
dell, and threw strong masses of light upon the robber- 
looking groups that were cooking, eating, and drinking 
around them. To add to the wildness of the scene, 
several Osage Indians, visitors from the villages we had 
passed, Avere mingled among the men. Three of them 
came and seated themselves by our fire. They watched 
every thing that was going on round them in silence, 
and looked like figures of monumental bronze. We gave 



A NIGUT SCENK ON THE PRAUILES. 127 

them food, and, wlial Uicy most relished, coffee ; I'or the 
Indians partake in tlie universal Ibndncss for this bever- 
age which pervades the West. When they had made 
their supper, they stretched themselves, side by sidcj 
before the fire, and began a low nasal chant, drumming 
with their hands upon their breasts, by way of accompa- 
niment. Their chant seemed to consist of regular staves, 
every one terminating, not in a melodious cadence, but 
in the abrupt interjection huh ! uttered ahnost like a hic- 
cup. This chant, we were told by our interpreter, Beatte, 
related to ourselves, our appearance, our treatment of 
them, and all that they knew of our plans. In one part 
they spoke of the young Count, whose animated charac- 
ter and eagerness for Indian enterprise had struck their 
fancy, and they indulged in some waggery about him 
and the young Indian beauties, that produced great mer- 
riment among our half-breeds. 

This mode of improvising is common throughout the 
savage tribes ; and in this way, with a few simple inflec- 
tions of the voice, they chant all their exploits in war and 
hunting, and occasionally indulge in a vein of comic hu- 
mor and dry satire, to which the Indians appear to me 
much more prone than is generally imagined. 

In fact, the Indians that I have had an opportunity 
of seeing in real life, are quite diilerent from those 
described in poctiy. They are by no means the stoics 
that they arc represented ; taciturn, unbending, without 
a tear or a smile. Taciturn they are, it is true, when in 
company with white men, whose good-will they distrust, 
and whose language they do not understand ; but the 
white man is equally taciturn under like circumstances. 
When the Indians are among themselves, however, there 
cannot be greater gossips. Half their time is taken up 
in talking over their adventures in war and hunting, and 



128 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

in telling whimsical stories. They are great niiniics and 
buffoons, also, and entertain themselves excessively at 
the expense of the whites with whom they have associ- 
ated, and who have supposed them impressed with pro- 
found respect for their grandeur and dignity. They are 
curious observers, noting every thing in silence, but with 
a keen and watchful eye ; occasionally exchanging a 
glance or a grunt with each oilier, when any thing par- 
ticularly strikes them : but reserving all comments until 
they are alone. Then it is that they give full scope to 
criticism, satire, mimicry, and mirth. 

In the course of my journey along the frontier, I have 
had repeated opportunities of noticing their excitability 
and boisterous merriment at their games ; and have occa- 
sionally noticed a group of Osages sitting round a fire 
until a late hour of the night, engaged in the most ani- 
mated and lively conversation ; and at times making the 
woods resound with peals of laughter. As to tears, they 
have them in abundance, both real and affected ; at times 
they make a merit oi' them. No one weeps more bitterly 
or profusely at the death of a relative or friend : aud they 
have stated times when they repair to howl aud lament 
at their graves. I have heard doleful wailings at day- 
break, ill the neighboring Indian villages, made by some 
of the inhabitants, who go out at that hour into the fields, 
to mourn and weep for the dead : at such times, I am 
told, the tears will stream down their cheeks in torrents. 

As far as I can judge, the Indian of poetical fiction is 
like the shepherd of pastoral romance, a mere personifi- 
cation of imaginary attributes. 



A BEE HUNT. 129 



A Bee Hunt. 

TiiK l)eautiful forest in which we were encamped 
abounded in bee-trees ; that is to say, trees in the decayed 
trunks of which wild boos had estabhshod tJioir hives. 
It is surprising in wliat countless swarms tlio Im^os have 
overspread the Far West, within but a moderate number 
of years. The Indians consider them the harbinger of 
the white man, as the bulfalo is of the rod man ; and say 
that, in })roportion as the bee advances, the Indian and 
buffalo r(3tire. We arc always accustomed to associate 
the hum of the bee-hive with the farmhonsc and llower- 
garden, and to consider thcs(; industrious litllo animals 
as connected with the busy haunts of man, and I am 
told that the wild bee is seldom to be met with at any 
great distance from the fronlier. Tiiey have bo(Mi the 
heralds of civilization, steadfastly preceding it as it ad- 
vanced from the Atlantic borders, and some of the an- 
cient settlers of the W(\st ])retend to giv(! the very year 
when the hontiy-beo first crossed the Mississippi. The 
Indians with surprise found the mouldering trees of their 
forests suddenly teeming willi ambrosial sweets, and 
nothing, I am told, can exceed the greedy relish with 
which they banquet lor the first time upon this unboughl 
luxury of the wilderness. 

At pres(!nt tlie honey-bee swarms in myriads, in the 
noble groves and forests which skirt and intersect the 
prairies, and extend along the alluvial bottoms of the 
riviMS. It seems to me as if these beautiful regions 
answer literally to the description of the land of promise, 
"a land flowing with milk and honey;" for the rich 
pasturage of the prairies is calculated to sustain herds of 

6* 



130 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

cattle as countless as tlie sands npon the sea-shore, while 
the flowers with which they arc enamelled render them 
a very paradise for the nectar-seeking bee. 

We had not been long in the camp when a party set 
out in quest of a bee-tree ; and, being curious to witness 
the sport, I gladly accepted an invitation to accompany 
them. The party was headed by a veteran bee-hunter, 
a tall lank fellow in homespun garb that hung loosely 
about his limbs, and a straw hat shaped not unlike a 
bee-hive ; a comrade, equally uncoutli in garb, and with- 
out a hat, straddled along at his heels, with a long rifle 
on his shoulder. To these succeeded half a dozen others, 
some with axes and some with rifles, for no one stirs far 
from the camp without his firearms, so as to be ready 
either for wild deer or wild Indian. 

After proceeding some distance, we came to an open 
glade on the skirts of the forest. Here our leader halted, 
and then advanced quietly to a low bush, on the top of 
which I perceived a piece of honey-comb. This I found 
was the bait or lure for the wild bees. Several were 
humming about it, and diving into its cells. When they 
had laden themselves with honey they would rise into 
the air, and dart ofl" in a straight line, almost with the 
velocity of a bullet. The hunters watched attentively 
the course they took, and then set otf in the same direc- 
tion, stumbling along over twisted roots and fallen trees, 
with their eyes turned up to the sky. In this way they 
traced the honey-laden bees to their hive, in the hollow 
trunk of a blasted oak, where, after buzzing about for a 
moment, they entered a hole about sixty feet from the 
ground. 

Two of the bee-hunters now plied their axes vigor- 
ously at the foot of the tree to level it with the ground. 
The mere spectators and amateurs, in the meantime, 



A BEE HUNT. 131 

drew off to a cautious distance, to be out of the way of 
the falhng of the tree and the vengeance of its inmates. 
The jarring blows of the axes seemed to have no effect 
in alarming or disturbing this most industrious commu- 
nity. They continued to ply at their usual occupations, 
some arriving fully freighted into port, others sallying 
forth on new expeditions, like so many merchantmen in 
a money-making metropolis, little suspicious of impend- 
ing bankruptcy and downfall. Even a loud crack which 
announced the disrupture of the trunk, failed to divert 
their attention from the intense pursuit of gain ; at length 
down came the tree with a tremendous crash, bursting 
open from end to end, and displaying all the hoarded 
treasures of the commonwealth. 

One of the hunters immediately ran up with a whisp 
of hghted hay as a defence against the bees. The latter, 
however, made no attack and sought no revenge ; they 
seemed stupefied by the catastrophe and unsuspicious of 
its cause, and remained crawling and buzzing about the 
ruins without offering us any molestation. Every one 
of the party now fell to, with spoon and hunting-knife, 
to scoop out the flakes of honey-comb with which the 
hollow trunk was stored. Some of them were of old 
date and a deep brown color, others were beautifully 
white, and the honey in their cells was almost limpid. 
Such of the combs as were entire were placed in camp 
kettles to be conveyed to the encampment ; those which 
had been shivered in the fall were devoured upon the 
spot. Every stark bee-hunter was to be seen with a rich 
morsel in his hand, dripping about his fingers, and disap- 
pearing as rapidly as a cream tart before the holiday 
appetite of a schoolboy. 

Nor was it the bee-lumtcrs alone that profited by the 
downfall of this industrious connmmity ; as if the bees 



132 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

would cany through the similitude of their habits with 
those of laborious and gainful man, I beheld numbers 
from rival hives, arriving on eager wing, to enrich them- 
selves with the ruins of their neighbors. These busied 
themselves as eagerly and cheerfully as so many wreck- 
ers on an Indiaman that has been driven on shore ; 
plunging into the cells of the broken honey-combs, ban- 
queting greedily on the spoil, and then winging their 
way full freighted to their homes. As to the poor pro- 
prietors of the ruin, they seemed to have no heart to do 
any thing, not even to taste the nectar that flowed round 
them ; but crawled backwards and forwards, in vacant 
desolation, as I have seen a poor fellow with his hands 
in his pockets, whistling vacantly and despondingly 
about the ruins of his house that had been burnt. 

It is difllicult to describe the bewilderment and con- 
fusion of the bees of the bankrupt hive who had been 
absent at the time of the catastrophe, and who arrived 
from time to time, with full cargoes from abroad. At 
first they wheeled about in the air, in the place where 
the fallen tree had once reared its head, astonished at 
finding it all a vacuum. At length, as if comprehending 
their disaster, they settled down in clusters on a dry 
branch of a neighboring tree, whence they seemed to 
contemplate the prostrate ruin, and to buzz forth doleful 
lamentations over the downfall of their republic. It was 
a scene on which the "melancholy Jaques" might have 
moralized by the hour. 



MARCH ON THE PRAIRIES. 133 



Picturesque March on the Prairies. 

At the signal-note of the bugle, the sentinels and 
patrols marched in from their stations around the camp 
and were dismissed. The rangers were roused from 
their night's repose, and soon a bustling scene took place. 
While some cut wood, made fires, and prepared the 
morning's meal, others struck their foul-weather shelters 
of blankets, and made every preparation for departure ; 
while others dashed about, through brush and brake, 
catching the horses and leading or driving them into 
camp. 

During all this bustle the forest rang with whoops, 
and shouts, and peals of laughter ; when all had break- 
fasted, packed up their efiects and camp equipage, and 
loaded the pack-horses, the bugle sounded to saddle and 
mount. By eight o'clock the whole troop set off in a 
long straggling line, with whoop and halloo, intermingled 
with many an oath at the loitering pack-horses, and in 
a little while the forest, which for several days had been 
the scene of such unwonted bustle and uproar, relapsed 
into its primeval solitude and silence. 

It was a bright sunny morning, with a pme trans- 
parent atmosphere that seemed to bathe the very heart 
with gladness. Our march continued parallel to the 
Arkansas, through a rich and varied country ; sometimes 
we had to break our way through alluvial bottoms mat- 
ted with redundant vegetation, where the gigantic trees 
were entangled with grape-vines, hanging like cordage 
from their branches ; sometimes we coasted along slug- 
gish brooks, whose feebly-trickling current just served to 
link together a succession of glassy pools, imbedded like 



134 Tiir: crayon reading book. 

inirrors in ihc quiet l)osom of the forest, reflecting its 
autumnal foliage, and patches of the clear blue sky. 
iSouietiauvs we scrambled up broken and rocky hills, 
from the summits of which we had wide views stretching 
on one side over distant prairies diversified by groves and 
forests, and on the other ranging along a line of blue 
and shadowy liills beyond the waters of tlie Arkansas. 

The a])pearane(i of our troop was suited to the coun- 
try ; stretching along in a line of upwards of half a mile 
in length, winding among brakes and bushes, and up 
and down the defiles of the hills: the men in every kind 
of uncouth garb, with long riil(>s on their shoulders, a)id 
mounted on horses of every color. The pack-horses, too, 
woidd incessantly wander from the line of march, to crop 
the surrounding herbage, and were banged and beaten 
back by Touish ami his half-breed compeers, with vol- 
leys of mongrel oaths. Every now and then the notes 
of the bugle from the head of the column, would echo 
through the woodlands and along the hollow glens, 
summoning up stragglers, and announcing the line of 
march. The whole scene reminded me of the descrip- 
tion given of bands of buccaneers penetrating the wilds 
of South America, on their plundering expeditions against 
the Spanish settlements. 

At one time we passed through a luxuriant bottom or 
meadow bordered by thickets, where the tall grass was 
pressed down into numerous " deer beds," where those 
animals had couched the preceding night. Some oak 
trees also bor(> signs of having lieen clambered by bears, 
in quest of acorns, the marks of their claws being visible 
in the bark. 

As we op(Mied a glade of this sheltered meadow, we 
beheld several deer bounding away in wild alfright, 
until, having gained some distance, they would stop and 



MARCH ON THE PRAIRIES. 135 

gaze back, with the curiosity common to this animal, at 
the strange intruders into their solitudes. There was 
immediately a sharp report of rifles in every direction, 
from the young huntsnien of the troop, but they were too 
eager to aim surely, and the deer, unharmed, bounded 
away into the depths of the forest. 

In tlu; course of oin- march we struck the Arkansas, 
but found ourselves still below the Red Fork, and, as the 
river made deep bends, we again left its banks and con- 
tinued through the woods until nearly eight o'clock, 
when we encamped in a beautiful basin bordered by a 
fine stream, and shaded by clumps of lofty oaks. 

Tlie horses were now hobbled, that is to say, their 
fore legs were fettered with cords or leathern straps, so 
as to impede their movements, and prevent their wander- 
ing from the camp. They were then turned loose to 
graze. A number of rangers, prime hunters, started off 
in different directions in search of game. There was no 
whooping nor laughing about the camp as in the morn- 
ing ; all were either busy about the fires preparing the 
evening's repast, or reposing upon the grass. Shots were 
soon heard in various directions. After a time a hunts- 
man rode into the camp with the carcass of a fine buck 
hanging across his horse. Shortly afterwards came in a 
couple of stripling hunters on foot, one of whom bore on 
his shoulders the body of a doe. He was evidently 
proud of his spoil, being probably one of his first achieve- 
ments, though he and his companion were much ban- 
tered by their comrades, as young beginners who hunted 
in partnership. 



130 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 



The Crossing of the Arkansas. 

We had now arrived at the river, about a quarter of 
a mile above the junction of the Red Fork ; but the banks 
were steep and crumbUng, and the current was deep and 
rapid. It was impossible, therefore, to cross at this place ; 
and we resumed our painful course through the forest, 
dispatching Beatte ahead, in search of a fording place. 
We had proceeded about a mile further, when he rejoined 
us, bringing intelligence of a place hard by, where the 
river, for a great part of its breadth, was rendered forda- 
ble by sand-bars, and the remainder might easily be 
swam by the horses. 

Here, then, we made a halt. Some of the rangers set 
to work vigorously with their axes, felling trees on the 
edge of the river, wherewith to form rafts for the trans- 
portation of their baggage and camp equipage. Others 
patrolled the banks of the river farther up, in hopes of 
finding a better fording place ; being unwilling to risk 
their horses in the deep channel. 

It was now that our worthies, Beatte and Tonish, 
had an opportunity of displaying their Indian adroitness 
and resource. At the Osage village which we had passed 
a day or two before, they had procured a dry buffalo 
skin. This was now produced ; cords were passed 
through a number of small eyelet holes with which it 
was bordered, and it was drawn up, until it formed a 
kind of deep trough. Sticks were then placed athwart 
it on the inside, to keep it in shape ; our camp equipage 
and a part of our baggage were placed within, and the 
singular bark was carried down the bank and set afloat. 
A cord was attached to the prow, which Beatte took 



THE CROSSING OF THE ARKANSAS. 137 

between his teeth, and throwing himself into the water, 
went ahead, towing the bark after him ; while Tonish 
followed behind, to keep it steady and to propel it. Part 
of the way they had foothold, and were enabled to wade, 
but in the main current they were obliged to swim. The 
whole way, they whooped and yelled in the Indian style, 
until they landed safely on the opposite shore. 

The Commissioner and myself were so well pleased 
with this Indian mode of ferriage, that we determined to 
trust ourselves in the buffalo hide. Our companions, the 
Count and Mr. L., had proceeded with the horses, along 
the river bank, in search of a ford which some of the 
rangers had discovered, about a mile and a half distant. 
While we were waiting for the return of our ferryman, I 
happened to cast my eyes upon a heap of luggage under 
a bush, and descried the sleek carcass of the polecat, 
snugly trussed up, and ready for roasting before the 
evening fire. I could not resist the temptation to plump 
it into the river, when it sunk to the bottom like a lump 
of lead ; and thus our lodge was relieved from the bad 
odor which this savory viand had threatened to bring 
upon it. 

Our men having recrossed with their cockle-shell 
bark, it was drawn on shore, half filled with saddles, 
saddlebags, and other luggage, amounting to a hundred 
weight ; and being again placed in the water, I was 
invited to take my seat. It appeared to me pretty much 
like the embarkation of the wise men of Gotham, who 
went to sea in a bowl : I stepped in, however, without 
hesitation, though as cautiously as possible, and sat 
down on top of the luggage, the margin of the hide sink- 
ing to within a hand's breadth of the water's edge. Ri- 
fles, fowling-pieces, and other articles of small bulk, were 
then handed in, until I protested against receiving any 



138 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

more freight. We then launched fortli upon the stream, 
the bark being towed as before. 

It was with a sensation half serious, half comic, that 
I found myself thus afloat, on the skin of a buffalo, in 
the midst of a wild river, surrounded by wilderness, and 
towed along by a half savage, whooping and yelling like 
a devil incarnate. To please the vanity of little Tonish, 
1 discharged the double-barrelled gun, to the right and 
left, when in the centre of the stream. The report echoed 
along the woody shores, and was answered by shouts 
from some of the rangers, to the great exultation of the 
little Frenchman, who took to liimself the whole glory 
of this Indian mode of navigation. 



Thunder-storm on the Prairies. 

In crossing a prairie of moderate extent, rendered 
little better than a slippery bog by the recent showers, 
we were overtaken by a violent thunder-gust. The rain 
came rattling upon us in torrents, and spattered up like 
steam along the ground ; the whole landscape was sud- 
denly wrapped in gloom that gave a vivid effect to the 
intense sheets of lightning, while the thunder seemed to 
burst over our very heads, and was reverberated by the 
groves and forests that checkered and skirted the prairie. 
Man and beast were so pelted, drenched, and confounded, 
that the line was thrown in complete confusion ; some of 
the horses were so frightened as to be almost unmanage- 
able, and our scattered cavalcade looked like a tempest- 
tossed fleet, driving hither and thither, at the mercy of 
wind and wave. 



THUNDER -STORftI ON THE PRAIRIES. 139 

At length, at half past two o'clock, we came to a halt, 
and gathering together our forces, encamped in an open 
and lofty grove, with a prairie on one side and a stream 
on the other. The forest immediately rang with the 
sound of the axe, and the crash of falling trees. Huge 
fires were soon blazing ; blankets were stretched before 
them, by way of tents ; booths were hastily reared of 
bark and skins ; every fire had its group drawn close 
round it, drying and warming themselves, or preparing a 
comforting meal. Some of the rangers were discharging 
and cleaning their rifles, which had been exposed to the 
rain ; while the horses, relieved from their saddles and 
burdens, rolled in the wet grass. 

The showers continued from time to time, until late 
in the evening. Before dark, our horses were gathered 
in and tethered about the skirts of the camp, within the 
outposts, through fear of Indian prowlers, who are apt to 
take advantage of stormy nights for their depredations 
and assaults. As the night thickened, the huge fires 
became more and more luminous ; lighting up masses 
of the overhanging foliage, and leaving other parts of the 
grove in deep gloom. Every fire had its goblin group 
around it, while the tethered horses were dimly seen, 
like spectres, among the thickets ; excepting that here 
and there a gray one stood out in bright relief 

The grove, thus fitfully lighted up by the ruddy glare 
of the fires, resembled a vast leafy dome, walled in by 
opaque darkness ; but every now and then two or three 
quivering flashes of lightning in quick succession, would 
suddenly reveal a vast champaign country, where fields 
and forests, and running streams, would start, as it were, 
into existence for a few brief seconds, and, before the eye 
could ascertain them, vanish agai'n into gloom. 

A thunder-storm on a prairie, as upon the ocean, de- 



140 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

rives grandeur and sublimity from the wild and boundless 
waste over which it rages and bellows. It is not sur- 
prising that these awful phenomena of nature should be 
objects of superstitious reverence to the poor savages, and 
that they should consider the thunder the angry voice 
of the Great Spirit. As our half-breeds sat gossiping 
round the fire, I drew from them some of the notions 
entertained on the subject by their Indian friends. The 
latter declared that extinguished thunderbolts are some- 
times picked up by the hunters on the prairies, who use 
them for the heads of arrows and lances, and that any 
warrior thus armed is invincible. Should a thunder- 
storm occur, however, during battle, he is liable to be 
carried away by the thunder, and never heard of more. 

A warrior of the Konza tribe, hunting on a prairie, 
was overtaken by a storm, and struck down senseless by 
the thunder. On recovering, he beheld the thunderbolt 
lying on the ground, and a horse standing beside it. 
Snatching up the bolt, he sprang upon the horse, but 
found, too late, that he was astride of the lightning. In 
an instant he was whisked away over prairies and for- 
ests, and streams and deserts, until he was flung sense- 
less at the foot of the Rocky Mountains ; whence, on 
recovering, it took him several months to return to his 
own people. 

This story reminded me of an Indian tradition, related 
by a traveller, of the fate of a warrior who saw the thun- 
der lying upon the ground, with a beautifully wrought 
moccason on each side of it. Thinking he had found a 
prize, he put on the moccasons ; but they bore him away 
to the land of spirits, whence he never returned. 

These are simple and artless tales, but they had a 
wild and romantic interest heard from the lips of half- 
savage narrators, round a hunter's fire, in a stormy night, 



LAMENTATIONS OF THE MOORS. 141 

with a forest on one side, and a howling waste on the 
other ; and where, perad venture, savage foes might be 
lurking in the outer darkness. 



Lamentations of the Moors for the Battle of Lucena. 

The sentinels looked out from the watch-towers 
of Loxa, along the valley of the Xenel, which passes 
through the mountains of Algaringo. They looked to 
behold the king returning in triumph, at the head of his 
shining host, laden with the spoils of the unbeliever. 
They looked to behold the standard of their warlike idol, 
the fierce Ali Atar, borne by the chivalry of Loxa, ever 
foremost in the wars of the border. 

In the evening of the 21st of April, they descried a 
single horseman urging his faltering steed along the 
banks of the Xenel. As he drew near, they perceived, 
by the flash of arms, that he was a warrior ; and on 
nearer approach, by the richness of his armor and the 
caparison of his steed, they knew him to be a warrior of 
rank. 

He reached Loxa, faint and aghast ; his Arabian 
courser covered with foam, and dust, and blood, panting 
and staggering with fatigue, and gashed with wounds. 
Having brought his master in safety, he sank down and 
died before the gate of the city. The soldiers at the gate 
gathered round the cavalier, as he stood mute and mel- 
ancholy by his expiring steed : they knew him to be the 
gallant Cidi Caleb, nephew of the chief alfaqui of the 
Albaycin of Granada. When the people of Loxa beheld 
this noble cavalier, thus alone, haggard and dejected, 
their hearts were filled with fearful forebodings. 



1*2 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

" Cavalier," said they, " how fares it with the king 
and army ?" 

He cast his hand mournfully toward the land of the 
Christians. " There they lie !" exclaimed he. " The 
heavens have fallen upon them. All are lost ! all 
dead !" 

Upon this, there was a great cry of consternation 
among the people, and loud wailings of women : for the 
flower of the youth of Loxa were with the army. 

An old Moorish soldier, scarred in many a border bat- 
tle, stood leaning on his lance by the gateway. " Where • 
is Ali Atar '?" demanded he, eagerly. " If he lives, the 
army cannot be lost." 

" I saw his turban cleaved by the Christian sword," 
replied Cidi Caleb. " His body is floating in the Xenel." 

When the soldier heard these words, he smote his 
breast and threw dust upon his head ; for he was an old 
follower of Ali Atar. 

The noble Cidi Caleb gave himself no repose, but, 
mounting another steed, hastened to carry the disastrous 
tidings to Granada. As he passed through the villages 
and hamlets, he spread sorrow around ; for their chosen 
men had followed the king to the wars. 

When he entered the gates of Granada, and announced 
the loss of the king and army, a voice of horror went 
throughout the city. Every one thought but of his own 
share in the general calamity, and crowded round the 
bearer of ill tidings. One asked after a father, another 
after a brother, some after a lover, and many a mother 
after her son. His replies were still of woimds and 
death. To one he replied, " I saw thy father pierced 
with a lance, as he defended the person of the king." 
To another, " Thy brother fell wounded under the hoofs 
of the horses ; but there was no time to aid him, for the 



LAMENTATIONS OF THE MOORS. 143 

Christian cavalry were upon us." To another, " I saw 
the horse of thy lover, covered with blood and galloping 
without his rider." To another, " Thy son fought by 
my side, on the banks of the Xenel : we were surrounded 
by the enemy, and driven into the stream. I heard him 
call upon Allah, in the midst of the waters : when I 
reached the other bank, he was no longer by my side." 

The noble Cidi Caleb passed on, leaving all Granada 
in lamentation : he urged his steed up the steep avenue 
of trees and fountains that leads to the Alhambra, nor 
stopped until he arrived before the gate of Justice. 
Ayxa, the mother of Boabdil, and Morayma, his beloved 
and tender wife, had daily watched from the tower of the 
Gomeres, to behold his triumphant return. Who shall 
describe their affliction, when they heard the tidings of 
Cidi Caleb? The sultana Ayxa spake not much, but 
sat as one entranced in woe. Every now and then, a 
deep sigh burst forth, but she raised her eyes to heaven : 
" It is the will of Allah !" said she, and with these words 
endeavored to repress the agonies of a mother's sorrow. 
The tender Morayma threw herself on the earth, and 
gave way to the full turbulence of her feelings, bewailing 
her husband and her father. The high-minded Ayxa 
rebuked the violence of her grief: " Moderate these trans- 
ports, my daughter," said she ; " remember magnanimity 
should be the attribute of princes ; it becomes not them 
to give way to clamorous sorrow, like common and vul- 
gar minds." But Morajmia could only deplore her loss, 
with the anguish of a tender woman. She shut herself 
up in her mirador, and gazed all day, with streaming 
eyes, upon the vega. Every object before her recalled 
the causes of her affliction. The river Xenel, which ran 
shining amidst the groves and gardens, was the same on 
whose banks had perished her father, Ali Atar ; before 



144 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

her lay the road to Loxa, by which Boabdil had departed, 
in martial state, surrounded by the chivalry of Granada. 
Ever and anon, she would burst into an agony of grief. 
" Alas ! my father !" she would exclaim ; " the river runs 
smiling before me, that covers thy mangled remains : 
who will gather them to an honored tomb, in the land of 
the unbeliever'? And thou, oh Boabdil, light of my eyes ! 
joy of my heart ! life of my life ! woe the day, and woe the 
hour, that I saw thee depart from these walls. The road 
by which thou hast departed is solitary ; never will it be 
gladdened by thy return ! the mountain thou hast tra- 
versed lies like a cloud in the distance, and all beyond it 
is darkness," 

The royal minstrels were summoned to assuage the 
sorrows of the queen : they attuned their instruments to 
cheerful strains ; but in a little while the anguish of their 
hearts prevailed, and turned their songs to lamentations. 

" Beautiful Granada !" they exclaimed, " how is thy 
glory faded ! The Vivarrambla no longer echoes to the 
tramp of steed and sound of trumpet ; no longer is it 
crowded with thy youthful nobles, ea'ger to display their 
prowess in the tourney and the festive tilt of reeds. 
Alas ! the flower of thy chivalry lies low in a foreign 
land ! the soft note of the lute is no longer heard in thy 
moonlight streets ; the lively Castanet is silent upon thy 
hills ; and the graceful dance of the Zambra is no more 
seen beneath thy bowers. Behold, the Alhambra is for- 
lorn and desolate ! in vain do the orange and myrtle 
breathe their perfumes into its silken chambers ; in vain 
does the nightingale sing within its groves ; in vain are 
its marble halls refreshed by the sound of fountains and 
the gush of limpid rills. Alas ! the countenance of the 
king no longer shines within those halls : the light of the 
Alhambra is set for ever !" 



THE CHRISTIAN AEMY AT THE CITV OF CORDOVA. 145 

Thus all Granada, say the Arabian chroniclers, gave 
itself up to lamentation : there was nothing but the voice 
of wailing, from the palace to the cottage. All joined to 
deplore their youthful monarch, cut down in the fresh- 
ness and promise of his youth ; many feared that the 
prediction of the astrologers was about to be fulfilled, and 
that the downfall of the kingdom would follow the death 
of Boabdil ; while all declared, that had he survived, he 
was the very sovereign calculated to restore the realm to 
its ancient prosperity and glory. 



The Christian Army asseinhled at the City of Cordova. 

Great and glorious was the style with which the 
Catholic sovereigns opened another year's campaign of 
this eventful war. It was like commencing another act 
of a stately and heroic drama, where the curtain rises to 
the inspiring sound of martial melody, and the whole 
stage glitters with the array of warriors and the pomp of 
arms. The ancient city of Cordova was the place 
appointed by the sovereigns for the assemblage of the 
troops ; and early in the spring of 1486, the fair valley 
of the Guadalquivir resounded with the shrill blast of 
trumpet, and the impatient neighing of the war-horse. 
In this splendid era of Spanish chivalry, there was a 
rivalship among the nobles who most should distinguish 
himself by the splendor of his appearance, and the num- 
ber and equipments of his feudal followers. Every day 
beheld some cavalier of note, the representative of some 
proud and powerful house, entering the gates of Cordova 
with sound of trumpet, and displaying his banner and 

7 



146 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

device, renowned in many a contest. He would appear 
in sumptuous array, surrounded by pages and lackeys 
no less gorgeously attired, and followed by a host of vas- 
sals and retainers, horse and foot, all admirably equipped 
in burnished armor. 

Such was the state of Don Inigo Lopez de Mendoza, 
duke of Infantado ; who may be cited as a picture of a 
warlike noble of those times. He brought with him five 
hundred men-at-arms of his household, armed and 
mounted a la gineta and d la guisa. The cavaliers 
who attended him were magnificently armed and 
dressed. The housings of fifty of his horses were of rich 
cloth, embroidered with gold ; and others were of bro- 
cade. The sumpter mules had housings of the same, 
with halters of silk ; while the bridles, head-pieces, and 
all the harnessing, glittered with silver. 

The camp equipage of these noble and luxurious 
warriors, was equally magnificent. Their tents were 
gay pavilions, of various colors, fitted up with silken 
hangings and decorated with fluttering pennons. They 
had vessels of gold and silver for the service of their 
tables, as if they were about to engage in a course of 
stately feasts and courtly revels, instead of the stern 
encounters of rugged and mountainous warfare. Some- 
times they passed through the streets of Cordova at 
night, in splendid cavalcade, with great numbers of 
lighted torches, tlie rays of which falling upon polished 
armor and nodding plumes, and silken scarfs, and trap- 
pings of golden embroidery, filled all beholders with 
admiration. 

But it was not the chivalry of Spain, alone, which 
thronged the streets of Cordova. The fame of this war 
had spread throughout Christendom : it was considered a 
land of crusade ; and Catholic knights from all parts 



THE CHRISTIAN ARMY AT THE CITY OF CORDOVA. 147 

hastened to signalize themselves in so holy a cause. 
There were several valiant chevaliers from France, 
among whom the most distinguished was Gaston du 
Leon, Seneschal of Toulouse. With him came a gallant 
train, well armed and mounted, and decorated with rich 
surcoats and panaches of feathers. These cavaliers, it is 
said, eclipsed all others in the light festivities of the 
colut : they were devoted to the fair, hut not after the 
solenm and passionate manner of the Spanish lovers ; 
they were gay, gallant and joyous in their amours, and 
captivated by the vivacity of their attacks. They were 
at first held in light estimation by the grave and stately 
Spanish knights, until they made themselves to be 
respected by their wonderful prowess in the field. 

The most conspicuous of the volunteers, however, 
who appeared in Cordova on this occasion, was an Eng- 
lish knight of royal connection. This was the lord 
Scales, earl of Rivers, brother to the queen of England, 
wife of Henry VII. He had distinguished himself in the 
preceding year, at the battle of Bos worth field, where 
Henry Tudor, then earl of Richmond, overcame Richard 
III. That decisive battle having left the country at 
peace, the earl of Rivers, having conceived a passion for 
warlike scenes, repaired to the Castilian court, to keep 
his arms in exercise, in a campaign against the Moors. 
He brought with him a hundred archers, all dexterous 
with the long-bow and the cloth-yard arrow ; also two 
hundred yeomen, armed cap-a-pie, who fought with pike 
and battle-axe, — men robust of frame, and of prodigious 
strength. The worthy padre Fray Antonio Agapida 
describes this stranger knight and his followers, with his 
accustomed accuracy and minuteness. 

"This cavalier," he observes, "was from the far 
island of England, and brought with him a train of his 



148 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

vassals ; men who had been hardened in certain civil 
wars which raged in their country. They were a come- 
ly race of men, but too fair and fresh for warriors, not 
having the sun-burnt warlike hue of our old Castihan 
soldiery. They were huge feeders also, and deep carou- 
sers, and could not accommodate themselves to the sober 
diet of our troops, but must fain eat and drink after the 
manner of their own country. They were often noi^y 
and unruly, also, in their wassail ; and their quarter of 
the camp was prone to be a scene of loud revel and sud- 
den brawl. They were, withal, of great pride, yet it was 
not like our inflammable Spanish pride ; they stood not 
much upon the pundo7ior, the high punctilio, and rarely 
drew the stiletto in their disputes ; but their pride was 
silent and contumelious. Though from a remote and 
somewhat barbarous island, they believed themselves the 
most perfect men upon earth, and magnified their chief- 
tain, the lord Scales, beyond the greatest of their gran- 
dees. With all this, it must be said of them that they 
were marvellous good men in the field, dexterous archers, 
and powerful with the battle-axe. In their great pride 
and self-will, they always sought to press in the advance 
and take the post of danger, trying to outvie our Spanish 
chivalry. They did not rush on fiercely to the fight, nor 
make a brilliant onset like the Moorish and Spanish 
troops, but they went into the fight deliberately and per- 
sisted obstinately, and were slow to find out when they 
were beaten. Withal they were much esteemed, yet little 
liked by our soldiery, who considered them stanch com- 
panions in the field, yet coveted but little fellowship with 
them in the camp. 

" Their commander, the lord Scales, was an accom- 
plished cavalier, of gracious and noble presence and fair 
speech ; it was a marvel to see so much courtesy in a 



THE CHRISTIAN ARMY AT THE CITY OF CORDOVA. 149 

knight brought up so far from our Castilian court. He 
was much honored by the king and queen, and found 
great favor with the fair dames about the court, who in- 
deed arc rather prone to be pleased with foreign cavaliers. 
He went always in costly state, attended by pages and 
esquires, and accompanied by noble young cavaliers of 
his country, who had enrolled themselves under his ban- 
ner, to learn the gentle exercise of arms. In all pageants 
and festivals, the eyes of the populace were attracted 
by the singular bearing and rich array of the English 
earl and his train, who prided themselves in always ap- 
pearing in the garb and manner of their country — and 
were indeed something very magnificent, delectable, and 
strange to behold." 

The worthy chronicler is no less elaborate in his de- 
scription of the Masters of Santiago, Calatrava, and Al- 
cantara, and their valiant knights, armed at all points, 
and decorated with the badges of their orders. These, he 
affirms, were the flower of Christian chivalry : being con- 
stantly in service, they became more steadfast and accom- 
plished in discipline, than the irregular and temporary 
levies of the feudal nobles. Calm, solemn, and stately, 
they sat like towers upon their powerful chargers. On 
parades, they manifested none of the show and ostenta- 
tion of the other troops : neither, in battle, did they en- 
deavor to signalize themselves by any fiery vivacity, 
desperate and vainglorious exploit— every thing, with 
them, was measured and sedate ; yet it was observed, 
that none were more warlike in their appearance in the 
camp, or more terrible for their achievements in the field. 

The gorgeous magnificence of the Spanish nobles 
found but little favor in the eyes of the sovereigns. They 
saw that it caused a competition in expense, ruinous to 
cavaliers of moderate fortune ; and they feared that a 



150 THE CRAYON UEADING BOOK. 

softness and cHeiiiinacy might thus he introduced, incom- 
patible Avitli tlie stern nature of the war. They signified 
their disapprobation to several of the principal noblemen, 
and reconnncnded a more sober and soldierlike display 
while in actual service. 

" These are rare troops for a tourney, my lord," said 
Ferdinand to the duke of Infantado, as he beheld his re- 
tainers glittering in gold and embroidery ; " but gold, 
though gorgeous, is soft and yielding : iron is the metal 
for the field." 

" Sire," replied the duke, " if my men parade in gold, 
your majesty will find they fight with steel." The king 
smiled but shook his head, and the duke treasured up his 
speech in his heart. 

It remains now to reveal the immediate object of this 
mighty and chivalrous preparation ; which had, in fact, 
the gratification of a royal pique at bottom. The severe 
lesson which Ferdinand had recieved from the veteran 
Ali Atar, before the walls of Loxa, though it had been of 
great service in rendering him wary in his attacks upon 
fortified places, yet rankled sorely in his mind ; and he 
had ever since held Loxa in peculiar odium. It was, in 
truth, one of the most belligerent and troublesome cities 
on the borders ; mcessantly harassing Andalusia by its 
incursions. It also intervened between the Christian ter- 
ritories and Alhama, and other important places gained 
in the kingdom of Granada. For all these reasons, king 
Ferdinand had determined to make another grand at- 
tempt upon this warrior city ; and for this purpose, he 
had sunnnoned to the field his most powerful chivalry. 

It was in the month of Maj', that the king sallied 
from Cordova, at the head of his army. He had twelve 
thousand cavalry and forty thousand foot soldiers, armed 
with cross-bows, lances, and arquebusses. There were 



BOABmL's RETURN TO GUANADA. 151 

six thousand pioneers, with hatchets, pickaxes, and crow- 
bars, for levelling roads. He took with him, also, a great 
train of lombards and other heavy artillery, with a body 
of Germans skilled in the service of ordnance and the art 
of battering walls. 

It was a glorious spectacle (says Fray Antonio Aga- 
pida) to behold this pon)})()ns pageant issuing forth from 
Cordova, the pcimons and devices of the proudest houses 
of Spain, with those of gallant stranger knights, flutter- 
ing above a sea of crests and plumes ; to see it slowly 
moving, with flash of helm, and cuirass, and buckler, 
across the ancient bridge, and reflected in the waters of 
the Guadalquivir, while the neigh of steed and blast of 
trumpet vibrated in the air, and resoimded to the distant 
mountains, " But, above all," concludes the good father, 
with his accustomed zeal, " it was triumphant to behold 
the standard of the faith every where displayed, and to 
reflect that this was no worldly-minded army, intent 
upon some temporal scheme of ambition or revenge ; but 
a Christian host, bound on a crusade to extirpate the vile 
seed of Mahomet from the land, and to extend the pure 
dominion of the church." 



BoahdiVs Retiirri to Granada. 

"In the hand of God," exclaims an old Arabian 
chronicler, " is the destiny of princes ; he alone giveth 
empire. A single Moorish horseman, mounted on a fleet 
Arabian steed, was one day traversing the mountains 
which extend between Granada and the frontier of Mur- 
c.ia. He galloped swiftly through the valleys, but paused 



152 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

and looked out cautiously from the summit of eveiy 
height. A squadron of cavaliers followed warily at a 
distance. There were fifty lances. The richness of their 
armor and attire showed them to be warriors of noble 
rank, and their leader had a lofty and prince-like demea- 
nor." The squadron thus described by the Arabian 
chronicler, was the Moorish king Boabdil and his devoted 
followers. 

For two nights and a day they pursued their adven- 
turous journey, avoiding all populous parts of the coun- 
try, and choosing the most solitary passes of the moun- 
tains. They sufiered severe hardships and fatigues, but 
they suffered without a murmur : they were accustomed 
to rugged campaigning, and their steeds were of generous 
and unyielding spirit. It was midnight, and all was 
dark and silent as they descended from the mountains, 
and approached the city of Granada. They passed along 
quietly under the shadow of its walls, until they arrived 
near the gate of the Albaycin. Here Boabdil ordered his 
followers to halt, and remain concealed. Taking but 
four or fiA^e with him, he advanced resolutely to the gate, 
aaid Ivuocked with the hilt of his scimitar. The guards 
demanded who sought to enter at that unseasonable 
hour. " Your king !" exclaimed Boabdil, " open the gate 
and admit him !" 

The guards held forth a light, and recognized the 
person of the youthful monarch. They were struck with 
sudden awe, and threw open the gates ; and Boabdil and 
his followers entered unmolested. They galloped to the 
dwellings of the principal inhabitants of the Albaycin, 
thundering at their portals, and summoning them to rise 
and take arms for their rightful sovereign. The summons 
was mstantly obeyed : trumpets resounded through the 
streets — the gleam of torches and the flash of arms 



SURRENDER OF GRANADA. 153 

showed the Moors hurrying to their gathering-places — 
and by daybreak, the whole force of tlie Albaycin was 
raUied under tlie standard of Boabdil. Such was the 
success of this sudden and desperate act of the young 
monarch ; for we are assured by contemporary historians, 
that there had been no previous concert -or arrangement. 
" As the guards opened the gates of the city to admit 
him," observes a pious chronicler, so (jod opened the 
hearts of the Moors to receive him as their kinar." 



/Surrender of Granada. 

The sun had scarcely begun to shed his beams upon 
the summits of the snowy mountains which rise above 
Granada, when the Christian camp was in motion. A 
detachment of horse and foot, led by distinguished cava- 
liers, and accompanied by Hernando de Talavera, bisliop 
of Avila, proceeded to take possession of the Alhambra 
and the towers. It had been stipulated in the capitula- 
tion, that the detachment sent for this purpose should 
not enter by the streets of the city ; a road had therefore 
been opened, outside of the walls, leading by the Puerta 
de los Molmos, or the Gate of the Mills, to the summit 
of the Hill of Martyrs, and across the hill to a postern- 
gate of the Alhambra. 

When the detachment arrived at the summit of the 
hill, the Moorish king came forth from the gate, attended 
by a handful of cavaliers, leaving his vizier Yusef Aben 
Comixa to deliver up the palace. " Go, senior," said he 
to the commander of the detachment, " go and take 
possession of those fortresses, which Allah has bestowed 
upon your powerful sovereigns, in punishment of the sins 

7* 



154 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

of the Moors." He said no more, but passed niourntully 
on, along the same road by which the Spanish cavaliers 
had come ; descending to the vega, to meet the Catholic 
sovereigns. The troops entered the AUiambra, the gates 
of which were wide open, and all its splendid courts and 
halls silent and deserted. 

In the meantime, the Christian court and army poured 
out of the city of Santa Fe, and advanced across the vega. 
The king and queen, with the prince and princess, and 
the dignitaries and ladies of the court, took the lead, ac- 
companied by the ditFerent orders of monks and friars, 
and surrounded by the royal guards splendidly arrayed. 
The procession moved slowly forward, and paused at the 
village of Armilla, at the distance of half a league from 
the city. 

The sovereigns waited here with impatience, their 
eyes fixed on the lofty tower of the Alhambra, watching 
for the appointed signal of possession. The time that had 
elapsed since the departure of the detachment seemed to 
them more than necessary for the purpose, and the anx- 
ious mind of Ferdinand began to entertain doubts of some 
commotion in the city. At length they saw the silver 
cross, the great standard of this crusade, elevated on the 
Torre de la Vala, or Great Watch-Tower, and sparkling 
in the sunbeams. This was done by Hernando de Tala- 
vera, bishop of Avila. Beside it was planted the pennon 
of the glorious apostle St. James, and a great shout of 
" Santiago ! Santiago !" rose throughout the army. Last- 
ly was reared the royal standard by the king of arms, 
with the shout of " Castile ! Castile ! For King Ferdi- 
nand and Q.ueen Isabella !" The words were echoed by 
the whole army, with acclamations that resounded across 
the vega. At sight of these signals of possession, the 
sovereigns sank upon their knees, giving thanks to God 



^ 



SURRENDER OF GRANADA. 155 

for this great trimn])h ; the whole assembled host follow- 
ed their exain])l(>, and the clioristcrs of the royal chapel 
broke forth into the solemn anthem of " Te Deum 
lauda?nus." 

The procession now resumed its march with joyful 
alacrity, to the sound of triumphant music, until they 
came to a small mosque, near the banks of the Xenel, 
and not far from the foot of the Hill of Martyrs, which 
edifice remains to the present day, consecrated as the 
hermitage of St. Sebastian. Here the sovereigns were 
met by the unfortunate Boabdil, accompanied by about 
fifty cavaliers and douK^.stics. As he drew near, he 
would have dismounted in token of homage, but Ferdi- 
nand prevented him. He then proffered to kiss the king's 
hand, but this sign of vassalage was likewise declined ; 
whereupon, not to be outdone in magnanimity, he leaned 
forward and kissed the right arm of Ferdinand. Queen 
Isabella also refused to receive this ceremonial of homage, 
and, to console him mider his adversity, delivered to him 
his son, who had remained as hostage ever since Boab- 
dil's liberation from captivity. The Moorish monarch 
pressed his child to his bosom with tender emotion, and 
they seemed mutually endeared to each other by their 
misfortunes. 

He then delivered the keys of the city to king Ferdi- 
nand, with an air of mingled melancholy and resignation : 
" These keys," said he, " arc the last relics of the Arabian 
empire in Spain : thine, oh king, are our trophies, our 
kingdom, and our person. Such is the will of God ! Re- 
ceive them with the clemency thou hast promised, and 
which we look for at thy hands." 

King Ferdinand restrained his exultation into an air 
of serene magnanimity. " Doubt not our promises," re- 
plied he, " nor that thou shalt regain from our friendship 



156 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

the prosperity of which the fortune of war has deprived 
thee." 

On receiving the keys, king Ferdinand handed them 
to the queen ; she in her turn presented them to her son 
prince Juan, who dehvered them to the Count de Ten- 
dilla, that brave and loyal cavaHer being appointed al- 
cayde of the city, and captain-general of the kingdom of 
Granada. 

Having surrendered the last symbol of power, the un- 
fortunate Boabdil continued on towards the Alpuxarras, 
that he might not behold the entrance of the Christians 
into his capital. His devoted band of cavaliers followed 
him in gloomy silence ; but heavy sighs burst from their 
bosoms, as shouts of joy and strains of triumphant music 
were borne on the breeze from the victorious army. 

Having rejoined his family, Boabdil set forward with a 
heavy heart for his allotted residence in the valley of 
Purchena. At two leagues' distance, the cavalcade, 
winding into the skirts of the Alpuxarras, ascended an 
eminence commanding the last view of Granada. As 
they arrived at this spot, the Moors paused involuntarily, 
to take a farewell gaze at their beloved city, which a few 
steps more would shut from their sight for ever. Never 
had it appeared so lovely in their eyes. The sunshine, 
so bright in that transparent climate, lit up each tower 
and minaret, and rested gloriously upon the crowning 
battlements of the Alhambra ; while the vega spread its 
enamelled bosom of verdure below, glistening with the 
silver windings of the Xenel. The Moorish cavaliers 
gazed with a silent agony of tenderness and grief upon 
that delicious abode, the scene of their loves and plea- 
sures. Wliile they yet looked, a light cloud of smoke 
burst forth from the citadel, and presently a peal of artil- 
lery, faintly heard, told that the city was taken posses- 



TAKING rOSRKSSION OF GRANADA. 157 

sion of, and llio lliroim of tlio iYIoslcni kinpis was lost lor 
ever. Tlio heart of IJoiihdil, softened by iiiisfortimos and 
overcharged with grief, could no longer contain itself: 
" AUali Acl)ar ! God is great !" saifl ho ; hut tlie words of 
resignation died uj)on his lips, and he burst into a flood 
of tears. 

His mother, the intrepid sultana Ayxa la Jlorra, was 
indignant at his weakness : " You do well," said she, " to 
weep like a woman, for what you failed to defend like a 
man !" 

The vizier Al)en (Jomixa end(Nivored to console his 
royal master. " (Jonsider, sir(>," said he, " that the most 
signal misfortunes often render men as renowned as the 
most prosperous achievements, provided they sustain 
them with magnanimity." 

The unha})})y monarch, however, was not to be con- 
soled ; his tears continued to flow. " Allah Acbar !" ex- 
claimed he ; " when did misfortunes v.viw oquu] mini;?" 

From this circnmstniiee, (Ik^ iiill, which is not far 
from the Padul, toolc the name of l'\^g All;di Acbar: but 
the point of view eonnnanding tlie last prospect of (ira- 
nada, is known among Spaniards by the name of JJl ul- 
timo suspiro del Moro ; or, " The last sigh of the Moor." 



How the Castilian Sovereigns took possession of 
Granada. 

When the CastiHan sovereigns had received (he keys 
of Granada from the hands of IJoabdil el ('hico, the royal 
army resumed its triumphant march. As it approached 
the gates of the city, in all the pomp of courtly and chiv- 



158 TIITJ CRAYON KEAOINCr BOOK. 

alrous array, a procession of a different kind came forth 
to meet it. This was composed of more than five hun- 
dred Christian captives, many of whom had languished 
for years in Moorish 'dungeons. Pale and emaciated, 
they came clanking their chains in triumph, and shed- 
ding tears of joy. Thoy were received with tenderness 
by the sovereigns. The king hailed them as good Span- 
iards, as men loyal and brave, as martyrs to the holy 
cause : the queen distributed liberal relief among them 
with her own hands, and they passed on before the 
squadrons of the army, singing hymns of jubilee. 

The sovereigns did not enter the city on this day of 
its surrender, but waited until it should be fully occupied 
by their troops, and public tranquillity insured. The 
marquis de Villena and the count de Tendilla, with 
three thousand cavalry and as many infantry, marched 
in and took possession, accompanied by the proselyte 
prince Cidi Yahye, now known by the Christian appella- 
tion of Don Pedro de Granada, who was appointed chief 
alguazil of the city, and had charge of the Moorish in- 
habitants, and by his son the late prince Alnayar, now 
Don Alonzo de Granada, who was appointed admiral of 
the fleets. In a little while, every battlement glistened 
with Christian helms and lances, the standard of the faith 
and of the realm floated from every tower, and the thun- 
dering salvos of the ordnance told that the subjugation 
of the city was complete. 

The grandees and cavaliers now knelt and kissed the 
hands of the king and queen and the prince Juan, and 
congratulated them on the acquisition of so great a king- 
dom ; after which, the royal procession returned in state 
to Santa F6. 

It was on the sixth of January, the day of kings and 
festival of the Epiph:iiiy, that the sovereigns made their 



TAKING POSSESSION OF GRANADA. 159 

triumphal entry. The king and queen (says the wortliy 
Fray Antonio Agapida) looked, on this occasion, as more 
than mortal : the venerable ecclesiastics, to whose advice 
and zeal this glorious conquest ought in a great measure 
to be attributed, moved along with hearts swelling with 
holy exultation, but with chastened and downcast looks 
of edifying humility ; while the hardy warriors, in toss- 
ing plumes and shining steel, seemed elevated with a 
stern joy, at finding themselves in possession of this ob- 
ject of so many toils and perils. As the streets resounded 
with the tramp of steed and swelling peals of music, the 
Moors buried themselves in the deepest recesses of their 
dwellings. There they bewailed in secret the fallen 
glory of their race, but suppressed their groans, lest they 
should be heard by their enemies and increase their 
triumph. 

The royal procession advanced to the principal 
mosque, which had been consecrated as a cathedral. 
Here the sovereigns offered up prayers and thanksgiv- 
ings, and the choir of the royal chapel chanted a trium- 
phant anthem, in which they were joined by all the 
courtiers and cavaliers. Nothing (says Fray Antonio 
Agapida) could exceed the thankfulness to God of the 
pious king Ferdinand, for having enabled him to eradi- 
cate from Spain the empire and name of that accursed 
heathen race, and for the elevation of the cross in that 
city wherein the impious doctrines of Mahomet had so 
long been cherished. In the fervor of his spirit, he sup- 
plicated from Heaven a continuance of its grace, and that 
this glorious triumph might be perpetuated. The prayer 
of the pious monarch was responded to by the people, 
and even his enemies were for once convinced of his 
sincerity. 

When the religious ceremonies were concluded, the 



160 THE CRAYON RKADING BOOK. 

court ascended to tlic stately palace of the Alhambra, and 
entered by the great gate ot" Justice. The halls lately 
occupied by turbaned Infidels now rustled with stately 
dames and Christian courtiers, who wandered with eager 
curiosity over this iar-lamed palace, admiring its verdant 
courts and gushing fountains, its halls decorated with 
elegant arabesques and storied with inscriptions, and the 
splendor of its gilded and brilliantly paiiUed ceilings. 

It had been a last request of the unfortiniate Boabdil, 
and one which showed how deeply he felt the transition 
of his fate, that no person might be permitted to enter or 
depart by the gate of the Alhambra through which he 
had sallied forth to surrender his capital. His request 
was granted ; the portal was closed up, and remains so 
at the present day — a mute memorial of that ev^enl. 

The Spanish sovereigns fixed their throne in the 
presence-chamber of the palace, so long the seat of Moor- 
ish royalty. Hither the principal inhabitants of Granada 
repaired, to pay them homage and kiss their hands in 
token of vassalage ; and their example was followed by 
deputies from all the towns and fortresses of the Alpux- 
arras, which had not hitherto submitted. 

Thus terminated the war of Granada, after ten years 
of incessant fighting ; equalling (says Fray Antonio Aga- 
pida) the far-famed siege of Troy in dm-ation, and end- 
ing, like that, in the capture of the city. Thus ended 
also the dominion of the Moors in Spain, having endured 
seven hundred and eighty-eight years, from the memora- 
ble defeat of Roderick, the last of the Goths, on the banks 
of the Guadalete. 



FILIAL AFFECTION. 161 



A P radical Philosopher. 

This Buckthorne was a inaii much to my taste ; he 
had seen the world, and mingled witli society, yet re- 
tained the strong eccentricities of a man who had hvcd 
much alone. There was a careless dash of good-humor 
about him which pleased me exceedingly ; and at times 
an odd tinge of melancholy mingled with his humor, and 
gave it an additional zest. He was apt to run into long 
speculations upon society and manners, and to indulge 
in whimsical views of human nature ; yet there was 
nothing ill-tempered in his satire. It ran more upon the 
follies than tlie vices of mankind ; and even the follies 
of his fellow-man were treated with the leniency of one 
who felt himself to be but frail. He had evidently been 
a little chilled and buffeted by fortune, without being 
soured thereby : as some fruits become mellower and 
more generous in their flavor from having been bruised 
and frost-bitten, 

I have always haid a great relish for the conversation 
of practical philosophers of this stamp, who have profited 
by the "sweet uses'-' of adversity without imbibing its 
bitterness ; who have learnt to estimate the world right- 
ly, yet good-humoredly ; and who, while they perceive 
the truth of the saying, that " all is vanity," are yet able 
to do so without vexation of spirit. 



Filial Affection. 



I SOUGHT the village church. It is an old low edifice 
of gray stone, on the brow of a small hill, looking over 



162 TUH OltAYON RKAUlNc; IJOOK. 

fertile fields, (owards where the proud towers of "Warwick 
castle lilt tiieiiiselves against the distant horizon. 

A part of the churchyard is shaded by large trees. 
Und(!r one of tlunn my niotlier lay bin'ied. Yon liave 
no doubt thought nie a light, heartless being. I thought 
myself so; but there are moments of adversity which let 
us into some feelings of our nature to which we might 
otherwise remain perpetual strangers. 

I sought my mother's grave ; the weeds were already 
matted over it, and the tt)nd)stone was half hid among 
nettles. I cleared them away, and they stung my hands ; 
but I was heedless of the pain, for my heart ached too 
severely. 1 sat down on (he grave, and read over and 
over again the epita})h on the stone. 

It was simple, — but it was true. I had written it 
myself. I had tried to write a poetical epitaph, but in 
vain; my feelings refused to utter themselves in rhyme. 
My heart had gradually been filling during my lonely 
wanderings ; it was now charged to the brim, and over- 
flowed, I sank upon the grave, and buried my face in 
the tall grass, and wept like a child. Yes, I wept in 
manhood upon the grave, as I had in infancy upon the 
bosom of my mother. Alas ! how little do wc appreciate 
a mother's tenderness while living ! how heedless are we 
in youth of all her anxieties and kindness ! But when 
she is dead and gone ; when the cares and coldness of 
the world come withering to our hearts ; when we find 
how hard it is to meet with true sympathy ; how few 
love us for ourselves ; how few will befriend us in our 
misfortunes ; then it is that we think of the mother we 
have lost. It is true I had always loved my mother, 
oven in my most heedless days ; but I felt how inconsid- 
erate and ineffectual had been my love. My heart melted 
as I retraced the daj^s of infancy, when I was led by ii 



I'U.IAL Al'PKCTlON. I C)!-} . 

nioUior's liaiid, and rockiMl lo sleep in a niolhor's arms, 
and was without (^are or sorrow. "O my motlKsr!" 
exclaimed I, burying- my face again in tlu; grass of tlu; 
grave ; "O tlial J were once more by your side; ; sleej)ing 
never to wake again on llie cares and troubles of tiiis 
world." 

I am not nalm-ally ofa morbid temj)eramen(, ;ind the 
violence of my (^notion gradually exhausted itself. It 
was a he;irly, iioncst, natural discharge of grief which 
had biM>n slowly accunndating, and gave me wonderful 
rcli(;f I rose from tin; grave as if I had been otl'ering up a 
sacrifice, and I felt as if that sacrifice had been accepted. 

I sat down again on the grass, and plucked, one by 
one, the weeds from lier grave : the tears trickled more 
slowly down my cheeks, and ceased to be bitter. It was 
a comfort to think that she had died before sorrow and 
poverty came upon her child, and that all his great 
expectations were blasted. 

I leaned my cheek upon my hand, and looked ii[)on 
the landscape. Its quiet beauty soothed me. The whis- 
tle of a peasant from an adjoining field came cheerily to 
my ear. I seemed to respire hope and condbrt witli the 
free air that whispered through the leaves, and played 
lightly with my hair, and dried the tears upon my cheek. 
A lark, rising from the field before me, and leaving as it 
were a stream of song behind him as he rose, lifted my 
fancy with him. lie hovered in the air just above the 
place wIkmc the towers of Warwick castle marked the 
horizon, and seemed as if fluttering with delight at his 
own melody. "Sur(;ly," thought I, " if there was such 
a thing as transmigration of souls, this might ]«; taken 
for some ])ovX let loose from earth, but still revelling in 
song, and caroling about fair fields and [ordly towers." 

At this moment the long-forgotten feeling of poetry 



164 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

rose within me. A thought sprang at once into my 
mind. — "I will become an author!" said I. "I have 
hitherto indulged in poetry as a pleasure, and it has 
brought me nothing but pain ; let me try what it will do 
when I cultivate it with devotion as a pursuit." 

The resolution thus suddenly aroused within me 
heaved a load from oft' my heart. I felt a confidence in 
it from the very place where it was formed. It seemed 
as though my mother's spirit whispered it to me from the 
grave. " I will henceforth," said I, " endeavor to be all 
that she fondly imagined me. I will endeavor to act as 
if she were witness of my actions ; I will endeavor to 
acquit myself in such a manner that, when I revisit her 
grave, there may at least be no compunctious bitterness 
with my tears." 

I bowed down and kissed the turf in solemn attesta- 
tion of my vow. I plucked some primroses that were 
growing there, and laid them next my heart. I left the 
churchyard with my spirit once more lifted up, and set 
out a third time for London in the character of an 
author. 



Wives. 

I DO not think it likely either Abstemia or patient 
Grizzle stands much chance of being taken for a model. 
Still I like to see poetry now and then extending its 
views beyond the wedding day, and teaching a lady how 
to make herself attractive even after marriage. There is 
no great need of enforcing on an unmarried lady the 
necessity of beijig agreeable ; nor is there any great art 
requisite in a youthful beauty to enable her to please. 



WIVES. 165 

Nature has multiplied attractions around her. Youth is 
in itself attractive. The freshness of budding beauty- 
needs no foreign aid to set it off; it pleases merely be- 
cause it is fresh, and budding, and beautiful. But it is 
for the married state that a woman needs the most in- 
struction, and in which she should be most on her guard 
to maintain her powers of pleasing. No woman can ex- 
pect to be to her husband all that he fancied her when 
he was a lover. Men are always doomed to be duped, 
not so much by the arts of the sex, as by their own 
imaginations. They are always wooing goddesses, and 
marrying mere mortals. A woman should therefore 
ascertain what was the charm which rendered her so 
fascinating when a girl, and endeavor to keep it up when 
she has become a wife. One great thing undoubtedly 
was, the chariness of herself and her conduct, which an 
unmarried female always observes. She should main- 
tain the same niceness and reserve in her person and 
habits, and endeavor still to preserve a freshness and 
virgin delicacy in the eye of her husband. She should 
remember that the province of woman is to be wooed, 
not to woo ; to be caressed, not to caress. Man is an 
ungrateful being in love ; bounty loses instead of winning 
him. The secret of a woman's power does not consist so 
much in giving, as in withholding. A woman may give 
up too much even to her husband. It is to a thousand 
little delicacies of conduct that she must trust to keep alive 
passion, and to protect herself from that dangerous famili- 
arity, that thorough acquaintance with every weakness 
and imperfection incident to matrimony. By these 
means she may still maintain her power, though she has 
surrendered her person, and may continue the romance 
of love even beyond the honey-moon. 

" She that hath a wise husband," says Jeremy Tay- 



166 THE CRAYON HEADING BOOK. 

lor," must entice him to an eternal dearncsse by the veil 
ol" modesty, and tlie grave robes of chastity, the orna- 
ment of meeknesse, and the jewels of faith and cluirity. 
She nuist liave no painting but blushings; her brightness 
must be purity, and she must shine round about with 
sweetnesses and friendship; and she shall be pleasant 
while she lives, and desired when she dies." 



Invisible Companions. 

I HAVE sat by the window and mused upon the 
dusky landscape, watching the lights disappearing, one 
by one, from the distant village ; and the moon rising in 
her silent majesty, and leading up all the silver pomp of 
heaven. As 1 have gazed upon these quiet groves and 
shadowy lawns, silvered over, and imperfectly lighted by 
streaks of dewy moonshine, my mind has been crowded 
by "thick coming fancies," concerning those spiritual 
beings which 

" walk, the earth 



Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep." 

Are there, indeed, such beings '!■ Is this space between 
us and the Deity filled up by innumerable orders of 
spiritual beings forming the same gradations between the 
human soul and divine perfection, that we see prevailing 
from liumanity downwards to the meanest insect ? It is 
a sublime and beautiful doctrine, inculcated by the early 
fathers, that there are guardian angels appointed to watch 
over cities and -nations; to take care of the welfare of 
good men, and to guard and guide the steps of helpless 



INVISIBLE COMPANIONS. 167 

infancy. "Nothing," says St. Jerome, "gives us a 
greater idea of the dignity of our soul, than that God has 
given each of us, at the moment of our birth, an angel to 
have care of it." 

Even the doctrine of departed spirits returning to visit 
the scenes and beings which were dear to them during 
the body's existence, though it has been debased by the 
absurd superstitions of the vulgar, in itself is awfully 
solemn and sublime. However lightly it may be 
ridiculed, yet the attention involuntarily yielded to it 
whenever it is made the subject of serious discussion ; its 
prevalence in all ages and countries, and even among 
newly discovered nations, that have had no previous in- 
terchange of thought with other parts of the world, prove 
it to be one of those mysterious, and almost instinctive 
beliefs, to which, if left to ourselves, we should naturally 
incline. 

In spite of all the pride of reason and philosophy, a 
vague doubt will still lurk in the mind, and perhaps will 
never be perfectly eradicated ; as it is concerning a mat- 
ter that does not admit of positive demonstration. Every 
thing connected with our spiritual nature is full of doubt 
and difficulty. "We are fearfully and wonderfully 
made ;" we are surrounded by mysteries, and we are 
mysteries even to ourselves. Who yet has been able to 
comprehend and describe the nature of the soul, its con- 
nection with the body, or in what part of the frame it is 
situated ? We know merely that it does exist ; but 
whence it came, and when it entered into us, and how it 
is retained, and where it is seated, and how it operates, 
are all matters of mere speculation, and contradictory 
theories. If, then, we are thus ignorant of this spiritual 
essence, even while it forms a part of ourselves, and is 
continually present to our consciousness, how can we 



108 Till:: CllAYON KKAUINCl UUOK. 

pretend to ascertain or to deny its powers and operations 
wlicn released from its fleshly prison-house ? It is more 
the maimer, therefore, in which this su})erslilion has been 
degraded, than its intrinsic absurdity, that has brought 
it into contempt. Raise it above the frivolous purposes 
to which it has been applied, strip it of the gloom and 
horror with which it has been surrounded, and none of 
the whole circle of visionary creeds could more delight- 
fully eleviite the imagination, or more tenderly aifecl the 
heart. It would become a sovereign comfort at the bed 
of death, soothing the bitter tear wrung from us by the 
agony of oin- mortal S(>j)arali()n. Wh;it coidd lu; more 
consoling than the; idea, that IIm; souls of thosi; whom we 
once loved wen; permitted to return and watch over our 
welfare? 'IMiat allectionate and guardian sj)irits sat by 
our ])illows when we sle[)f, keeping a vigil over our most 
helpless hours ? That beauty and innocence which had 
languisluHl into tlu; tomb, yet smiled unseen around us, 
r(!V(^aliiig Ihemst'lves in thos(; blest dreams wherein we 
live over again the hours of past endearment ? A belief 
of this kind would, I should think, be a new incentive to 
virtue; rendering us circumspect even in our secret 
moments, from the idea that those we once loved and 
honored were invisible witnesses of all our actions. 

It would take away, too, from that loneliness and 
destitution which we are apt to feel more and more as 
we get on in oiu' pilgrimage through the wilderness of 
this world, and find tliat (hosi; who set forward with us, 
lovingly, and cheerily, on the journey, have one by one 
dro])|)ed away from our side. Place the superstition in 
this light, and I confess I should like to be a believer in 
if. I see nothing in it that is incompatible with the ten- 
der and nuM-ciful nature of our religion, nor revolting to 
the wishes and affections of the heart. 



ST. MAILK's ICVK. 169 

There are departed beings wlioin I have loved as 1 
never again shall love in liiis world ; — who have loved 
me as 1 never again shall be loved ! If such beings do 
ever retain in their blessed splieres the attachments 
which they lelt on earth ; ii' they take an interest in the 
poor concerns of transient mortality, and are permitted 
to hold communion witli tliose whom they have loved 
on earth, I feel as if now, at this deep hour of night, in 
this silence and solitude, 1 could receive their visitation 
with the most solemn, but unalloyed delight. 

In truth, such visitations would be too hap])y for this 
world ; they would be incompatible with the natme of 
this imperfect state of being. We are here placed in a 
mere scene of spiritual thraldom and restraint. Our souls 
are shut in and limitod by bounds and barriers ; shackled 
by mortal infirmities, and subject to all the gross impedi- 
ments of matter. In vain would they seek to act inde- 
pendently of tiie l)ody, and to mingle together in spirit- 
ual intercourse. They can only act here through their 
fleshly organs. Their earthly loves are made up of 
transient embraces and long separations. The most in- 
timate friendship, of what brief and scattered portions of 
time does it consist? We take each other by the hand, 
and we exchange a few words and looks of kindness, 
and we rejoice together for a few short moments, and 
then days, months, years intervene, and we see and 
know nothing of each other. Or granting that we dwell 
together for the full season of this our mortal life, the 
grave soon closes its gates between us, and then our 
spirits are doomed to remain in separation and widow- 
hood ; until they meet again in that more perfect state 
of being, where soul will dwell with soul in blissful 
connnunion, and there will be neither death, nor absence, 
nor any thing else to interrupt our felicity. 

8 



170 INVISIBLE COMPANIONS. 



The Storm-iShip. 

In the golden age of the province of the New Nether- 
lands, when under the sway of Woiitej- Van Twiller, 
otherwise called the Doubter, the people of the Manhat- 
toes were alarmed one sultry afternoon, just about the 
time of the summer solstice, by a tremendous storm of 
thunder and liglitning. The rain fell in such torrents 
as absolutely to spatter up and smoke along the ground. 
It seemed as if the thunder rattled and rolled over the 
very roofs of the houses ; the lightning Avas seen to play 
about the church of St. Nichola's, and to strive three 
times, in vain, to strike its weather-cock. Garret Van 
Home's new chimney was split almost from top to bot- 
tom ; and Doffue Mildeberger was struck speechless 
from his bald-faced mare, just as he was riding into 
town. In a word, it was one of those unparalleled storms, 
which only happen once within the memory of that ven- 
erable personage, known in all towns by the appellation 
of " the oldest inhabitant." 

Great was the terror of the good old women of the 
Manhattoes. They gathered their children together, and 
took refuge in the cellars ; after having hung a shoe on 
the iron point of every bed-post, lest it should attract the 
lightning. At length the storm abated ; the thunder 
sank into a growl, and the setting sun, breaking from 
under the fringed borders of the clouds, made the broad 
bosom of the bay to gleam like a sea of molten gold. 

The word was given from the fort that a ship was 
standing up the bay. It passed from mouth to mouth, 
and street to street, and soon put the little capital in a 
bustle. The arrival of a ship, in those early times of the 



xnii; .sToRM-siiir. 171 

settlement, was an event of vast importance to the in- 
habitanl.s. It brought them news from the old world, 
from tlie land of their birth, from which they were so 
completely severed : to the yearly shij), too, they looked 
for their supply of luxuries, of finery, of comforts, and 
almost of necessaries. The good vrouw could not have 
her new cap nor new gown until the arrival of the ship; 
the artist waited for it for his tools, the burgomaster for 
his pipe and his supply of Hollands, the schoolboy for 
his top and marl)les, and the lordly landholder for the 
bricks with which he was to build his new mansion. 
Thus every one, rich and poor, great and small, looked 
out for the arrival of the ship. It was the groat yearly 
event of the town of New Amsterdam; and from one 
end of the year to the other, the ship— the ship— the 
ship — was the continual topic of conversation. 

The news from the fort, th(M(;foic, brought all the 
populace down to the battery, to behold the wished-for 
sight. It was not exactly the time when she had been 
expected to arrive, and the circrnnstancc was a matter of 
some speculation. Many were the groups collected about 
the battery. Here and there might be seen a burgomas- 
ter, of slow and pompous gravity, giving his opinion with 
great confidence to a crowd of old women and idle boys. 
At another place was a knot of old weather-beaten fel- 
lows who had been seamen or fishermen in their times, 
and were great authorities on such occasions ; these gave 
difierent opinions, and caused great disputes among their 
several adherents : but the man most looked up to, and 
followed and watched by the crowd, was Flans Van Pelt, 
an old Dutch sea-captain retired from service, the nauti- 
cal oracle of the place. He reconnoitred the ship through 
an ancient telescope, cov(!red with tarry canvas, JnnTi- 
med a Dutch tune to himself, and said nothing. A hutn, 



172 THE CRAYON RKADING BOOK. 

however, from Hans Van Pelt, liad always more weight 
with the pnblic than a speech from another man. 

In the meantime the ship became more distinct to the 
naked eye : she was a stont, round, Dutch-built vessel, 
with high bow and poop, bearing Dutch colors. The 
sun gilded her bellying canvas, as she came riding over 
the long waving billows. The sentinel who had given 
notice of her approach, declared, that he first got sight of 
her when she was in the centre of the bay ; and that she 
broke suddenly on his sight, just as if she had come out 
of the bosom of the black thunder-cloud. The bystand- 
ers looked at Hans Van Pelt, to see what he would say to 
this report : Hans Van Pelt screwed his mouth closer to- 
gether, and said nothing ; upon which some shook their 
heads, and others shrugged their shoulders. 

The sliip was now repeatedly hailed, but made no 
reply, and passing by the fort, stood on up the Hudson. 
A gun was brought to bear on her, and, with some diffi- 
culty, loaded and fired by Hans Van Pelt, the garrison 
not being expert in artillery. The shot seemed absolutely 
to pass through the ship, and to skip along the water on 
the other side, but no notice was taken of it ! What was 
strange, she had all her sails set, and sailed right against 
wind and tide, which were both down the river. Upon 
this Hans Van Pelt, who was likewise harbor-master, 
ordered his boat, and set ofi" to board her ; but after row- 
ing two or three liours, he returned without success. 
Sometimes he would get within one or two hundred 
yards of her, and then, in a twinkling, she would be Ij/ilf 
a mile off. Some said it was because his oarsmen, who 
were rather pursy and short-winded, stopped every now 
and then to take breath, and spit on their hands ; but this 
it is probable was a mere scandal. He got near enough, 
however, to see the crew ; who were all dressed in the 



THE STORM-siiir. 173 

Dutch style, the officers in doublets and high hats and 
feathers ; not a word was spoken by any one on board ; 
they stood as motionless as so many statues, and the sliip 
seemed as if left to her own government. Thus she kept 
on, away up the river, lessening and lessening in the 
evening sunshine, imtil she faded from sight, like a little 
white cloud mi^lting away in tlie summer sky. 

The appearance of this ship threw the governor into 
one of the deepest doubts that ever beset him in the whole 
course of his administration. Fears were entertain(>d for 
the security of the infant settlements on the river, lest 
this might be an enemy's ship in disguise, sent to take 
possession. The governor called together his council 
repeatedly to assist iiim witli their conjectures. He sat 
in his chair of state, built of timber from the sacred for- 
est of the Hague, smoking his long jasmin pipe, and list- 
ening to all that his counsellors hud to say on a subject 
about which they knew nothing ; but in spite of all the 
conjecturing of the sagest and oldest heads, the governor 
still continued to doubt. 

Messengers were dispatched to different places on the 
river ; but they returned without any tidings — the ship 
had made no port. Day after day, and week after week, 
elapsed, but she never returned down the Hudson. As, 
however, the council seemed solicitous for intelligence, 
they had it in abundance. The captains of the sloops 
seldom arrived without bringing some report of having 
seen the strange ship at different parts of the river; 
soiiietimes near the Pallisadoes, sometimes off Croton 
Point, and sometimes in the Highlands ; but she never 
was reported as having been seen above the Highlands. 
The crews of the sloops, it is true, generally differed 
among themselves in their accounts of these apparitions ; 
but that may have arisen from the uncertain situations 



174 THE CRAYON HEADING BOOK. 

in which they saw her. Sometimes it was by the flashes 
of the thunder-storm, Hghting up a pitchy night, and 
giving ghmpses of her careering across Tappaan Zee, or 
tlie wide waste of Haverstraw Bay. At one moment she 
would appear close upon them, as if likely to run 
them down, and would throw them into great bustle 
and alarm ; but the next flash would show her far off", 
always sailing against the wind. Sometimes, in quiet 
moonlight nights, she would be seen under some high 
bluff" of the Highlands, all in deep shadow, excepting 
her topsails glittering in the moonbeams ; by the time, 
however, that the voyagers reached the place, no ship 
was to be seen ; and when they had passed on for some 
distance, and looked back, behold ! there she was again, 
with her top-sails in the moonshine ! Her appearance was 
always just after, or just before, or just in the midst of 
unruly weather ; and she was known among the skip- 
pers and voyagers of the Hudson by the name of " the 
storm-ship." 

These reports perplexed the governor and his council 
more than ever ; and it would be endless to repeat the 
conjectures and opinions uttered on the subject. Some 
quoted cases in point, of ships seen off" the coast of New 
England, navigated by witches and goblins. Old Hans 
Van Pelt, who had been more than once to the Dutch 
colony at the Cape of Good Hope, insisted that this must 
be the Flying Dutchman, which had so long haunted 
Table Bay ; but being unable to make port, had now 
sought another harbor. Others, suggested, that if it really 
was a supernatural apparition, as there was every nat- 
ural reason to believe, it might be Hendrick Hudson, and 
his crew of the Halfmoon ; who, it was well known, had 
once run aground in the upper part of the river, in seek- 
ing a northwest passage to China. This opinion had very 



THE STORM-SHIP. 175 

little weight with the governor, but it passed current out 
of doors ; for indeed it had already been reported, that 
Hendrick Hudson and his crew haunted the Kaatskill 
Mountain ; and it appeared very reasonable to suppose, 
that his ship might infest the river where the enterprise 
was baffled, or that it might bear the shadowy crew to 
their periodical revels in the mountain. 

Other events occurred to occupy the thoughts and 
doubts of the sage Wouter and his council, and the 
storm-ship ceased to be the subject of deliberation at the 
board. It continued, however, a matter of popular be- 
lief and marvellous anecdote through the whole time of 
the Dutch government, and particularly just before the 
capture of New Amsterdam, and the subjugation of the 
province by the English squadron. About that time the 
storm-ship was repeatedly seen in the Tappaan Zee, and 
about Weehawk, and even down as far as Hoboken ; and 
her appearance was supposed to be ominous of the ap- 
proaching squall in public affairs, and the downfall of 
Dutch domination. 

Since that time we have no authentic accounts of 
her ; though it is said she still haunts the Highlands, 
and cruises about Point-no-point. People who live along 
the river, insist that they sometimes see her in summer 
moonlight : and that in a deep still midnight they have 
heard the chant of her crew, as if heaving the lead ; but 
sights and sounds are so deceptive along the mountain- 
ous shores, and about the wide bays and long reaches of 
this great river, that I confess I have very strong doubts 
upon the subject. 

It is certain, nevertheless, that strange things have 
been seen in these Highlands in storms, which are con- 
sidered as coimected with the old story of the ship. The 
captains of the river craft talk of a little bulbous-bottom- 



176 THE CRAYON REAPING BOOK. 

ed Dutch goblin, in trunk hose and sugar-loafed hat, 
with a speaking trumpet in his hand, which they say 
keeps about the Dunderberg.* They declare that they 
have heard him, in stormy weather, in the midst of the 
turmoil, giving orders in low Dutch for the piping up of 
a fresh gust of wind, or the rattling off of another thun- 
der-clap. That sometimes he has been seen surrounded 
by a crew of little imps in broad breeches and sliort 
doublets ; tumbling head over heels in the rack and 
mist, and playing a thousand gambols in the air ; or 
buzzing like a swarm of flies about Antony's Nose ; and 
that, at such times, the hurry-scurry of the storm was 
always greatest. One time a sloop, in passing by the 
Dunderberg, was overtaken by a thunder-gust, that came 
scouring round the mountain, and seemed to burst just 
over the vessel. Though tight and well ballasted, she 
labored dreadfully, and the water came over the gun- 
wale. All the crew were amazed, when it was discov- 
ered that there was a little white sugar-loaf hat on the 
mast-head, known at once to be the hat of the Heer of 
the Dunderberg. Nobody, however, dared to climb to 
the mast-head, and get rid of this terrible hat. The 
sloop continued laboring and rocking, as if she would 
have rolled her mast overboard, and seemed in continual 
danger either of upsetting or of running on shore. In 
this way she drove quite through the Higlilands, until 
she had passed Pollopol's Island, where, it is said, the 
jurisdiction of the Dunderberg potentate ceases. No 
sooner had she passed this bourne, than the little hat 
spun up into the air like a top, whirled up all the clouds 
into a vortex, and hurried them back to the summit of 
the Dunderberg ; while the sloop righted herself, and 

* t. e. The " Thunder Mountain," so called from its echoes. 



WESTMINSTER. ABBEY. 177 

sailed on as quietly as if in a mill-pond. Nothing saved 
her from utter wreck but the fortunate circumstance of 
having a horse-shoe nailed against the mast ; a wise 
precaution against evil spirits, since adopted by all the 
Dutch captains that navigate this haunted river. 



Westminster Abbey. 

On one of those sober and rather melancholy days, 
in the latter part of Autumn, when the shadows of 
morning and evening almost mingle together, and throw 
a gloom over the decline of the year, I passed several 
hours in rambling about Westminster Abbey. There 
was something congenial to the season in the mournful 
magnificence of the old pile ; and, as I passed its thresh- 
old, seemed like stepping back into the regions of anti- 
quity, and losing myself among the shades of former 
ages. 

I entered fi'om the inner court of Westminster School, 
through a long, low, vaulted passage, that had an almost 
subterranean look, being dimly lighted in one part by 
circular perforations in the massive walls. Through this 
dark avenue I had a distant view of the cloisters, with 
the figure of an old verger, in his black gown, moving 
along their shadowy vaults, and seeming like a spectre 
from one of thie neigliboring tombs. The approach to 
the abbey through these gloomy monastic remains 
prepares the mind for its solemn contemplation. The 
cloisters still retain something of the quiet and seclusion 
of former days. The gray walls are discolored by damps, 
and crumbling with age ; a coat of hoary moss has gath- 



178 THE CRAYON READING ROOK. 

ered over the inscriptions of the mural monuments, and 
obscured the death heads, and other funereal emblems. 
The sharp touches of the chisel are gone from the rich 
tracery of the arches ; the roses which adorned the key- 
stones have lost their leafy beauty ; every thing bears 
marks of the gradual dilapidations of time, which yet 
has something touching and pleasing in its very decay. 

The sun was pouring down a yellow autumnal ray 
into the square of the cloisters ; beaming upon a scanty 
plot of grass in the centre, and lighting up an angle of 
the vaulted passage with a kind of dusky splendor. 
P>om between the arcades, the eye glanced up to a bit of 
blue sky or a passing cloud ; and beheld the sun-gilt pin- 
nacles of the abbey towering into the azure heaven. 

As I paced the cloisters, sometimes contemplating 
this mingled picture of ruin and decay, and sometimes 
endeavoring to decipher the inscriptions on the tomb- 
stones, which formed the pavement beneath my feet, my 
eye was attracted to three figures, rudely carved in relief, 
but nearly worn away by the footsteps of many genera- 
tions. They were the effigies of three of the early abbots ; 
the epitaphs were entirely effaced ; the names alone re- 
mained, having no doubt been renewed in later times. 
I remained some little while, musing over these casual 
relics of antiquity, thus left like wrecks upon this distant 
shore of time, telling no tale but tliat such beings had 
been and had perished ; teaching no moral but the futility 
of that pride which hopes still to exact homage in its 
ashes, and to live in an inscription. A little longer, and 
even these faint records will be obliterated, and the mon- 
ument will cease to be a memorial. Whilst I was yet 
looking down upon these grave-stones, I was roused by 
the sound of the abbey clock, reverberating from buttress 
to buttress, and echoing among the cloisters. It is almost 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 179 

Startling to hear this warning ol departed time sounding 
among the tombs, and telling the lapse of the hoin-, which 
like a billow, has rolled ns onward towards the grave. I 
pursued my walk to an arched door opening to the interi- 
or of the abbey. On entering here, the magnitude of the 
building breaks fully upon the mind, contrasted with the 
vaults of the cloisters. The eyes gaze with wonder at 
clustered columns of gigantic dimensions, with arches 
springing from them to such an amazing height ; and 
man wandering about their bases, shrunk into insignifi- 
cance in comparison with his own handiwork. The 
spaciousness and gloom of this vast edifice produce a 
profound and mysterious awe. We step cautiously and 
softly about, as if fearful of disturbing the hallowed si- 
lence of the tomb ; while every footfall whispers along 
the walls, and chatters among the sepulchres, making us 
more sensible of the quiet we have interrupted. 

It seems as if the awful nature of the place presses 
down upon the soul, and hushes the beholder into noise- 
less reverence. We feel that we are surrounded by the 
congregated bones of the great men of past times, who 
have filled history with their deeds, and the earth with 
their renown. 

And yet it almost provokes a smile at the vanity of 
human ambition, to see how they are crowded together 
and jostled in the dust ; what parsimony is observed in 
doling out a scanty nook, a gloomy corner, a little portion 
of earth, to those, whom, wiicn alive, kingdoms could not 
satisfy ; and how many shapes, and forms, ajid artifices, 
are devised to catch the casual notice of the passenger, 
and save from forgetfulness, for a few short years, a 
name which once aspired to occupy ages of the world's 
thought and admiration. 

I passed some time in Poet's Corner, which occupies 



180 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

an end of one of the transepts or cross aisles of the abbey. 
The monuments are generally simple ; for the lives of 
literary men afford no striking themes for the sculptor. 
Shakspeare and Addison have statues erected to their 
memories ; but the greater part have busts, medallions, 
and sometimes mere inscrijjtions. Notwithstanding the 
simplicity of these memorials, 1 have always observed 
that the visitors to the abbey remained longest about 
them, A kinder and fonder feeling takes place of that 
cold curiosity or vague admiration with which they gaze 
on the splendid monuments of the great and the heroic. 
Tiiey linger about these as about the tombs of friends 
and companions ; for indeed there is something of coin- 
panionshi]) between the author and the reader. Other 
men are known to posterity only through the medium of 
history, which is continually growing Ibint and obscure: 
but the intercourse between the author and his fellow- 
men is ever new, active, and immediate. He has lived for 
them more than for himself; he has sacrillced surround- 
ing enjoyments, and shut himself up from the delights of 
social life, that he might the more intimately commune 
with distaut minds and distant ages. Well may the world 
cherish his renown ; for it has been purchased, not by 
deeds of violence and blood, but by the diligent dispensa- 
tion of pleasure. Well may ])ostority be grateful (o his 
memory; I'or he has U-ft it an inherilance, not of empty 
names and soiiiidiiig acdons, but wiiole treasiu'cs t)f wis- 
dom, bright g(>msofthought, and golden veins of kuiguage. 
V'roni Poet's (\)rner I continued my stroll towards 
that part of the abbey which contains the sepulchres of 
the kings. 1 wandered among what once were chapels, 
but which are now occupied by the tombs and moim- 
ments of the great. At every turn I met with some illus- 
trious name ; or the cognizance of some powerful house 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 181 

renowned in history. As the eye darts into these dusity 
chambers of tleath, it catches glimpses of quaint (ilfigies ; 
some kneeling in niches, as if in devotion; others strctclied 
upon the tombs, with hands piously pressed together : 
warriors in armor, as if reposing after battle ; prelates 
with crosiers and mitres ; and nobles in robes and coro- 
nets, lying as it were in state. In glancing over this 
scene, so strangely populous, yet where every form is so 
still and silent, it seems almost as if we were treading a 
mansion of that fabled city, where every being had been 
suddenly transnuited into stone. 

I paused to contemplate a tomb on which lay the 
effigy of a knight in complete armor. A large buckler 
was on one arm ; the hands were pressed together in 
supplication upon the breast : the face was .-ilmost cov- 
ered by the morion ; the legs were crossed, in token of 
the warrior's having been engaged in the holy war. It 
was the tomb of a crusader ; of one of those military en- 
thusiasts, who so strangely mingled religion and romance, 
and whose exploits form the connecting link between fact 
and fiction ; between the history and the fairy tale. There 
is something cxtrem(;ly picturesque in the tombs of these 
adventurers, decorated as they are with rude armorial 
bearings and Gothic sculpture. They comport with the 
antiquated chapels in which they arc generally found ; 
and in considering them, the imagination is apt to kindle 
with the legendary associations, the romantic fiction, the 
chivalrous pomp and pag(;antry, which poetry has spread 
over the wars for the sepulchre of Christ. They are the 
relics of time utterly gone by ; of beings passed from recol- 
lection ; of customs and maimers with which ours have 
no affinity. They are like olyects from some strange and 
distant land, of which we have no certain knowledge, 
and about which all our conceptions are vague; and vis- 



182 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

ionaiy. There is something extremely solemn and awful 
in those effigies on Gothic tombs, extended as if in the 
sleep of death, or in the supplication of the dying hour. 
They have an effect infinitely more impressive on my 
feelings than the fanciful attitudes, the over-wrought 
conceits, and allegorical groups, which abound on mod- 
ern monuments. I have been struck, also, with the 
superiority of many of the old sepulchral inscriptions. 
There was a noble way, in former times, of saying things 
simply, and yet saying them proudly ; and I do not 
know an epitaph tliat breathes a loftier consciousness of 
family worth and honorable lineage, than one which 
affirms, of a noble house, that "all the brothers were 
brave, and all the sisters virtuous." 

In the opposite transept to Poet's Corner stands a 
monument which is among the most renowned achieve- 
ments of modern art ; but which to me appears horrible 
rather than sublime. It is the tomb of Mrs. Nightingale, 
by Roubillac. The bottom of the monument is repre- 
sented as throwing open its marble doors, and a sheeted 
skeleton is starting forth. The shroud is falling from his 
fleshless frame as he launches his dart at his victim. She 
is sinking into her affrighted husband's arms, who strives, 
with vain and frantic effort, to avert the blow. The whole 
is executed with terrible truth and spirit ; we almost 
fancy we hear the gibbering yell of triumph bursting 
from the distended jaws of the spectre. — But why should 
we thus seek to clothe death with unnecessary terrors, 
and to spread horrors round the tomb of those we love ? 
The grave should be surrounded by every thing that 
might inspire tenderness and veneration for the dead ; or 
that might win the living to virtue. It is the place, not 
of disgust and dismay', but of sorrow and meditation. 

While wandering about these gloomy vaults and 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 183 

silent aisles, studying the records of the dead, the sound 
of busy existence from without occasionally reaches the 
ear ; — the rumbling of the passing equipage ; the mur- 
nun- of the multitude ; or perhaps the light laugh of 
pleasure. The contrast is striking with the death-like 
repose around : and it has a strange eflect upon the feel- 
ings, thus to heai- the surges of active life hurrying along, 
and beating against the very walls of the sepulchre. 

I continued in this way to move from tomb to tomb, 
and from chapel to chapel. The day was gradually 
Avearing away ; the distant tread of loiterers about the 
abbey grew less and less frequent ; the sweet-tongued 
bell was summoning to evening prayers ; and I saw at a 
distance the choristers, in their white surplices, crossing 
the aisle and entering the choir. I stood before the en- 
trance to Henry the Seventh's chapel. A flight of steps 
lead up to it, through a deep and gloomy, but magnifi- 
cent arch. Great gates of brass, richly and delicately 
wrought, turn heavily upon their hinges, as if proudly 
reluctant to admit the feet of common mortals into this 
most gorgeous of sepulchres. 

On entering, the eye is astonished by the pomp of ar- 
chitecture, and the elaborate beauty of sculptured detail. 
The very walls are wrought into universal ornament, 
incrusted with tracery, and scooped into niches, crowded 
with the statues of saints and martyrs. Stone seems, by 
the cunning labor of the chisel, to have been robbed of 
its weight and density, suspended aloft, as if by magic, 
and the fretted roof achieved with the wonderful minute- 
ness and airy security of a cobweb. 

Along the sides of the chapel are the lofty stalls of the 
Knights of the Bath, richly carved of oak, though with 
the grotesque decorations of Gothic architecture. On the 
pinnacles of the stalls are affixed the helmets and crests 



184 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

of the knights, with their scarfs and swords ; and above 
them are suspended their banners, emblazoned with ar- 
morial bearings, and contrasting the splendor of gold and 
purple and crimson, with the cold gray fretwork of the 
roof In the midst of this grand mausoleum stands the 
sepulchre of its founder— his effigy, with that of his 
queen, extended on a sumptuous tomb, and the whole 
surrounded by a superbly-wrought brazen railing. 

There is a sad dreariness in this magnificence ; this 
strange mixture of tombs and trophies ; these emblems 
of living and aspiring ambition, close beside mementos 
which show the dust and oblivion in which all must 
sooner or later terminate. Nothing impresses the mind 
with a deeper feeling of loneliness, than to tread the silent 
and deserted scene of former throng and pageant. On 
looking round on the vacant stalls of the knights and their 
esquires, and on the rows of dusty but gorgeous banners 
that were once borne before them, my imagination con- 
jured up the scene when this hall was bright with the 
valor and beauty of the land ; glittering with the splen- 
dor of jewelled rank and military array ; alive with the 
tread of many feet and the hum of an admiring multi- 
tude. All had passed away ; the silence of death had 
settled again upon the place, interrupted only by the 
casual chirping of birds, which had found their way into 
the chapel, and built their nests among its friezes and 
pendants— sure signs of solitariness and desertion. 

When I read the names inscribed on the banners, 
they were those of men scattered far and wide about the 
world ; some tossing upon distant seas ; some under arms 
in distant lands ; some mingling in the busy intrigues of 
courts and cabinets ; all seeking to deserve one more dis- 
tinction in this mansion of shadowy honors : the melan- 
choly reward of a monument. 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 185 

Two small aisles on each side of this chapel present 
a touching instance of the equality of the grave ; which 
brings down the oppressor to a level with the oppressed, 
and mingles the dust of the bitterest enemies together. 
In one is the sepulchre of the haughty Elizabeth ; in the 
othei« is that of her victim, the lovely and unfortunate 
Mary. Not an hour in the day but some ejaculation of 
pity is uttered over the fate of the latter, mingled with 
indignation at her oppressor. The walls of Elizabeth's 
sepulchre continually echo with the sighs of sympathy 
heaved at the grave of her rival. 

A peculiar melancholy reigns over the aisle where 
Mary lies buried. The light struggles dimly through 
windows darkened by dust. The greater part of the 
place is in deep shadow, and the walls arc stained and 
tinted by time and weather. A marble figure of Mary 
is stretched upon the tomb, round which is an iron rail- 
ing, much corroded, bearing her national emblem — the 
thistle. I was weary with wandering, and sat down to 
rest myself by the monument, revolving in my mind the 
checkered and disastrous story of poor Mary. 

The sound of casual footsteps had ceased from the 
abbey. I could only hear, now and then, the distant 
voice of the priest repeating the evening service, and the 
faint responses of the choir ; these paused for a time, and 
all was hushed. The stillness, the desertion and 
obscurity that were gradually prevailing around, gave a 
deeper and more solemn interest to the place : 



For in the silent grave no conversation. 
No joyful tread of friends, no voice of lovers. 
No careful fathei"'s counsel — nothing's heard. 
For nothing is, but all oblivion. 
Dust, and an endless darkness. 



186 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. _ 

Suddenly the notes of the deep-laboring organ burst 
upon the ear, falling with doubled and redoubled in- 
tensity, and rolling, as it were, huge billows of sound. 
How well do their volume and grandeur accord with this 
mighty building ! With what pomp do they swell 
through its vast vaults, and breathe their awful harmony 
through these caves of death, and make the silent sepul- 
chre vocal ! — And now they rise in triumphant acclama- 
tion, heaving higher and higher their accordant notes, 
and piling sound on sound. — And now they pause, and 
the soft voices of tlie choir break out into sweet gushes 
of melody ; they soar aloft, and warble along the roof, 
and seem to play about these lofty vaults like the pure 
airs of heaven. Again the pealing organ heaves its 
thrilling thunders, compressing air into music, and rolling 
it forth upon tlie soul. What long-drawn cadences ! 
What solemn sweeping concords ! It grows more and 
more dense and powerful — it fills the vast pile, and seems 
to jar the very walls — the ear is stunned — the senses are 
overwhelmed. And now it is winding up in full jubilee 
— it is rising from the earth to heaven — the very soul 
seems rapt away and floated upwards on this swelling 
tide of harmony ! 

I sat for some time lost in that kind of reverie which 
a strain of music is apt sometimes to inspire : the shadows 
of evening were gradually thickening around me ; the 
monuments began to cast deeper and deeper gloom ; and 
the distant clock again gave token of the slowly waning 
day. 

I rose and prepared to leave the abbey. As I 
descended the flight of steps which lead into the body of 
the building, my eye was caught by the shrine of 
Edward the Confessor, and I ascended the small stair- 
case that conducts to it, to take from thence a general 



WESTMINSTER, ABBEY. 187 

survey of this wilderness of tombs. The shrine is 
elevated upon a kind of platform, and close around it are 
the sepulchres of various kings and queens. From this 
enrinence the eye looks down between pillars and funeral 
trophies to the chapels and chambers below, crowded 
with tombs ; where warriors, prelates, courtiers, and 
statesmen, lie mouldering in their " beds of darkness." 
Close by me stood the great chair of coronation, rudely 
carved of oak, in the barbarous taste of a remote and 
Gotliic age. The scene seemed almost as if contrived, 
with theatrical artifice, to produce an effect upon the 
beholder. Here was a type of the beginning and the 
end of human pomp and power ; here it was literally 
but a step from the throne to the sepulchre. Would not 
one think that these incongruous mementos had been 
gathered together as a lesson to living greatness? — to 
show it, even in the moment of its proudest exaltation, 
the neglect and dishonor to which it must soon arrive ; 
how soon that crown which encircles its brow must pass 
away, and it must lie down in the dust and disgraces of 
the tomb, and be trampled upon by the feet of the mean- 
est of the multitude. For, strange to tell, even the grave 
is here no longer a sanctuary. There is a shocking 
levity in some natures, which leads them to sport with 
awful and hallowed things ; and there are base minds, 
which delight to revenge on the illustrious dead the ab- 
ject homage and grovelling servility which they pay to 
the living. The coffin of Edward tlie Confessor has been 
broken open, and his remains despoiled of their funereal 
ornaments ; the sceptre has been stolen from the hand 
of the imperious Elizabeth, and the effigy of Henry the 
Fifth lies headless. Not a royal monument but bears 
some proof how false and fugitive is the homage of man- 
kind. Some are plundered ; some mutilated ; some 



188 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

covered with ribaldry and insult — all more or less out- 
raged and dishonored ! 

The last beams of day were now faintly streaming 
through the painted windows in the high vaults above 
me ; the lower parts of the abbey were already wrapped 
in the obscurity of twilight. The chapels and aisles 
grew darker and darker. The effigies of the kings faded 
into shadows ; the marble figures of the monuments 
assumed strange shapes in the uncertain light ; the 
evening breeze crept through the aisles like the cold 
breath of the grave ; and even the distant footfall of a 
verger, traversing the Poet's Corner, had something 
strange and dreary in its sound. I slowly retraced my 
morning's walk, and as I passed out at the portal of the 
cloisters, the door, closing with a jarring noise behind 
me, filled the whole building with echoes. 

I endeavored to form some arrangement in my mind 
of the objects I had been contemplating, but found they 
were already fallen into indistinctness and confusion. 
Names, inscriptions, trophies, had all become confounded 
in my recollection, though I had scarcely taken my foot 
from off the threshold. What, thought I, is this vast 
assemblage of sepulchres but a treasury of humiliation ; 
a huge pile of reiterated homilies on the emptiness of 
renown, and the certainty of oblivion ! It is, indeed, the 
empire of death; his great shadowy palace, where he sits 
in state, mocking at the relics of human glory, and 
spreading dust and forgetfulness on the monuments of 
princes. How idle a boast, after all, is the immortality 
of a name ! Time is ever silently turning over his 
pages ; we are too much engrossed by the story of the 
present, to think of the characters and anecdotes that 
gave interest to the past ; and each age is a volume 
thrown aside to be speedily forgotten. The idol of to-day 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 189 

pushes the hero of yesterday out of our recollection ; and 
will, in turn, be supplanted by his successor of to-mor- 
row. " Our fathers," says Sir Thomas Brown, " find 
their graves in our short memories, and sadly tell us how 
we may be buried in our survivors." History fades into 
fable ; fact becomes clouded with doubt and controversy ; 
the inscription moulders from the tablets ; the statue 
falls from the pedestal. Columns, arches, pyramids, 
what are they but heaps of sand ; and their epitaphs, 
but characters written in the dust ? What is the security 
of a tomb, or the perpetuity of an embalmment ? The 
remains of Alexander the Great have been scattered to 
the wind, and his empty sarcophagus is now the mere 
curiosity of a museum. " The Egyptian mummies, 
which Cambyses or time hath spared, avarice now con- 
sumeth ; Mizraim cures wounds, and Pharaoh is sold 
for balsams."* 

What then is to insure this pile which now towers 
above me from sharing the fate of mightier mausoleums? 
The time must come when its gilded vaults, which now 
spring so loftily, shall lie in rubbish beneath the feet ; 
when, instead of the sound of melody and praise, the 
wind shall whistle through the broken arches, and the 
owl hoot from the shattered tower — when the garish sun- 
beam shall break into these gloomy mansions of death, 
and the ivy twine round the fallen column ; and the 
fox-glove hang its blossoms about the nameless urn, as 
if in mockery of the dead. Thus man passes away ; his 
name perishes from record and recollection ; his history 
is as a tale that is told, and his very monument becomes 
a ruin. 

» Sir T. Brown. 



190 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 



Christmas. 



It is a beautiful arrangement, derived from days of 
yore, that this festival, which commemorates the an- 
nouncement of the rehgion of peace and love, has been 
made the season for gathering together of family con- 
nections, and drawing closer again those bands of 
kindred hearts, which the cares and pleasures and sor- 
rows of the world are continually operating to cast loose ; 
of calling back the children of a family, who have 
launched forth in life, and wandered widely asunder, 
once more to assemble about the paternal hearth, that 
rallying place of the affections, there to grow young and 
loving again among the endearing mementos of child- 
hood. 

There is something in the very season of the year 
that gives a charm to the festivity of Christmas. At 
other times we derive a great portion of our pleasures 
from the mere beauties of nature. Our feelings sally 
forth and dissipate themselves over the sunny landscape, 
and we " live abroad and every where." The song of 
the bird, the murmur of the stream, the breathing fra- 
grance of spring, the soft voluptuousness of summer, the 
golden pomp of autumn ; earth with its mantle of re- 
freshing green, and heaven with its deep delicious blue 
and its cloudy magnificence, all fill us with mute but 
exquisite delight, and we revel in the luxury of mere 
sensation. But in the depth of winter, when nature lies 
despoiled of every charm, and wrapped in her shroud of 
sheeted snow, we turn for our gratifications to moral 
sources. The dreariness and desolation of the land- 
scape, the short gloomy days and darksome nights, while 
they circumscribe our wanderings, shut in our feelings 



CHRISTMAS. 191 

also from rambling abroad, and make us more keenly- 
disposed for the pleasm-e of the social circle. Our 
thoughts are more concentrated ; our friendly sympa- 
thies more aroused. We feel more sensibly tlie charm 
of each other's society, and are brought more closely to- 
gether by dependence on each other for enjoyment. 
Heart calleth unto heart ; and we draw our pleasures 
from the deep wells of loving-kindness, which lie in the 
quiet recesses of our bosoms ; and which, when resorted 
to, furnish forth the pure element of domestic felicity. 

The pitchy gloom without makes the heart dilate on 
entering the room filled with the glow and warmth of the 
evening fire. The ruddy blaze diftuses an artificial sum- 
mer and sunshine through the room, and lights up each 
countenance in a kindlier welcome. Where does the 
honest face of hospitality expand into a broader and more 
cordial smile — where is the shy glance of love more 
sweetly eloquent — than by the winter fireside ? and as 
the hollow blast of wintry wind rushes through the hall, 
claps the distant door, whistles about the casement, and 
rumbles down the chimney, what can be more grateful 
than that feeling of sober and sheltered security, with 
which we look round upon the comfortable chamber and 
the scene of domestic hilarity ? 

Amidst the general call to happiness, the bustle of the 
spirits, and stir of the affections, which prevail at this 
period, what bosom can remain insensible ? It is, indeed, 
the season of regenerated feeling — the season for kindling, 
not merely the fire of hospitality in the hall, but the 
genial flame of charity in the heart. 

The scene of early love again rises green to memory 
beyond the sterile waste of years ; and the idea of home, 
fraught with the fragrance of home-dwelling joys, reani- 
mates the drooping spirit ; as the Arabian breeze will 



192 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

sometimes waft the freshness of the distant fields to the 
weary pilgrim of the desert. 



Death. 

The grave is the ordeal of true affection. It is there 
that the divine passion of the soul manifests its superior- 
ity to the instinctive impulse of mere animal attachment. 
The latter must be continually refreshed and kept alive 
by the presence of its object ; but the love that is seated 
in the soul can live on long remembrance. The mere 
inclinations of sense languish and decline with the 
charms which excited them, and turn with shuddering 
disgust from the dismal precincts of the tomb ; but it is 
thence that truly spiritual affection rises, purified from 
every sensual desire, and returns, like a holy flame, to 
illumine and sanctify the heart of the survivor. 

The sorrow for the dead is the only sorrow from 
which we refuse to be divorced. Every other wound 
we seek to heal — every other affliction to forget; but this 
wound we consider it a duty to keep open — this affliction 
we cherish and brood over in* solitude. Where is the 
mother who would willingly forget the infant that 
perished like a blossom from her arms, though every 
recollection is a pang? Where is the child that would 
willingly forget the most tender of parents, though to re- 
member be but to lament ? Who, even in the hour of 
agony, would forget the friend over whom he mourns ? 
Who, even when the tomb is closing upon the remains 
of her he most loved ; when he feels his heart, as it were, 
crushed in the closing of its portal ; would accept of con- 
solation that must be bought by forgetfulness ? — No, the 



DEATH. 193 

love which survives the tomb is one of the noblest attri- 
butes of the soul. If it has its woes, it has likewise its 
delights ; and when the overwhelming hurst of grief is 
calmed into the gentle tear of recollection ; when the 
sudden anguish and the convulsive agony over the pre- 
sent ruins of all that we most loved, is softened away 
into pensive meditation on all that it was in the days of 
its loveliness — who would root out such a sorrow from 
the heart ? Though it may sometimes throw a passing 
cloud over the bright hour of gayety, or spread a deeper 
sadness over the hour of gloom, yet who would exchange 
it, even for the song of pleasure, or the burst of revelry 1 
No, there is a voice from the tomb sweeter than song. 
There is a remembrance of the dead to which we turn 
even from the charms of the living. Oh the grave ! — 
the grave ! — It buries every error — covers every defect — 
extinguishes every resentment ! From its peaceful bosom 
spring none but fond regrets and tender recollections. 
Who can look down upon the grave even of an enemy, 
and not feel a compunctious throb, that he should ever 
have warred with the poor handful of earth that lies 
mouldering before him ! 

But the grave of those we loved — what a place for 
meditation ! There it is that we call up in long review 
the whole history of virtue and gentleness, and the thou- 
sand endearments lavished upon us almost unheeded in 
the daily intercourse of intimacy — there it is that we 
dwell upon the tenderness, the solemn, awful tenderness 
of the parting scene. The bed of death, with all its 
stifled griefs — its noiseless attendance — its mute, watch- 
ful assiduities. The last testimonies of expiring love ! 
The feeble, fluttering,- thrilling — oh! how thrilling! — 
pressure of the hand ! The faint, faltering accents, strug- 
gling in death to give one more assurance of affection ! 

9 



194 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

The last fond look of the glazing eye, turning upon as 
even from the threshold of existence ! 

Ay, go to the grave of buried love, and meditate ! 
There settle the account with thy conscience for every 
past benefit unrequited — every past endearment unre- 
garded, of that departed being, who can never — never — 
never return to be soothed by thy contrition ! 

If thou art a child, and hast ever added a sorrow to 
the soul, or a furrow to the silvered brow of an affection- 
ate parent — if thou art a husband, and hast ever caused 
the fond bosom that ventured its whole happiness in thy 
arms to doubt one moment of thy kindness or thy truth 
— if thou art a friend, and hast ever wronged, in thought, 
or word, or deed, the spirit that generously confided in 
thee — if thou art a lover, and hast ever given one un- 
merited pang to that true heart which now lies cold and 
still beneath thy feet ; — then be sure that every unkind 
look, every ungracious word, and every ungentle action, 
will come thronging back upon thy memory, and knocking 
dolefully at thy soul — then be sure that thou wilt lie 
down sorrowing and repentant on the grave, and utter 
the unheard groan, and pour the unavailing tear ; more 
deep, more bitter, because unheard and unavailing. 

Then weave thy chaplet of flowers, and strew the 
beauties of nature about the grave ; console thy broken 
spirit, if thou canst, with these tender, yet futile tributes 
of regret ; but take warning by the bitterness of this thy 
contrite afiliction over the dead, and henceforth be more 
faithful and aflectionate in the discharge of thy duties to 
the living. 



THE WIDOW AND HER SON. 195 



The Widow and her Son. 

Pitie olde age, within whose silver haires 
Honour and reverence evermore have rain'd. 

Marlowe's Tamburlaine. 

Those who are in the habit of remarking such mat- 
ters must have noticed the passive quiet of an Enghsh 
landscape on Sunday. The clacking of the mill, the 
regularly recurring stroke of the flail, the din of the 
blacksmith's hammer, the whistling of the ploughman, 
the rattling of the cart, and all other sounds of rural 
labor are suspended. The very farm-dogs bark less 
frequently, being less disturbed by passing travellers. 
At such times I have almost fancied the winds sunk 
into quiet, and that the sunny landscape, with its fresh 
green tints melting into blue haze, enjoyed the hallowed 
calm. 

Sweet day, so pure, so calm, so bright, 
The bridal of the earth and sky. 

Well was it ordained that the day of devotion should be 
a day of rest. The holy repose which reigns over the 
face of nature, has its moral influence ; every restless 
passion is charmed down, and we feel the natural reli- 
gion of the soul gently springing up within us. For my 
part, there are feelings that visit me, in a country church, 
amid the beautiful serenity of nature, which I experience 
no where else ; and if not a more religious, I think I am 
a better man on Sunday than on any other day of the 
seven. 

During my recent residence in the country I used 
frequently to attend the old village church. Its shadowy 



196 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

aisles ; its mouldering monuments ; its dark open panel- 
ling, all reverend with the gloom of departed years, seemed 
to fit it for the haunt of solemn meditation ; but being in 
a wealthy aristocratic neighborhood, the glitter of fashion 
penetrated even into the sanctuary ; and I felt myself 
continually thrown back upon the world by the frigidity 
and pomp of the poor worms around me. The only being 
in the whole congregation who appeared thoroughly to 
feel the humble and prostrate piety of a true Christian 
was a poor decrepit old woman, bending under the 
weight of years and infirmities. She bore the traces of 
something better than abject poverty. The lingerings of 
decent pride were visible in her appearance. Her dress, 
though humble in the extreme, was scrupulously clean. 
Some trivial respect, too, had been awarded her, for she 
did not take her seat among the village poor, but sat 
alone on the steps of the altar. She seemed to have sur- 
vived all love, all friendship, all society ; and to have 
nothing left her but the hopes of heaven. When I saw 
her feebly rising and bending her aged form in prayer ; 
habitually conning her prayer-book, which her palsied 
hand and failing eyes would not permit her to read, but 
which she evidently knew by heart; I felt persuaded 
that the faltering voice of that poor woman arose to hea- 
ven far before the responses of the clerk, the swell of the 
organ, or the chanting of the choir. 

I am fond of loitering about country churches, and 
this was so delightfully situated, that it frequently at- 
tracted me. It stood on a knoll, round which a small 
stream made a beautiful bend, and then wound its way 
through a long reach of soft meadow scenery. The 
church was surrounded by yew-trees which seemed 
almost coeval with itself. Its tall Gothic spire shot up 
lightly from among them, with rooks and crows awkward- 



THE WIDOW AND HER SON. ~ 197 

ly wheeling about it. I was seated there one still sunny 
morning, watching two laborers who were digging a 
grave. They had chosen one of the most remote and 
neglected corners of the church-yard ; where, from the 
number of nameless graves around, it woidd appear that 
the indigent and friendless were huddled into the earth. 
I was told that the new-made grave was for the only son 
of a poor widow. While I was meditating on the dis- 
tinctions of worldly rank, which extend thus down into 
the very dust, the toll of the bell announced the approach 
of the funeral. They were the obsequies of poverty, with 
which pride had nothing to do. A coffin of the plainest 
materials, without pall or other covering, was borne by 
some of the villagers. The sexton walked before with 
an an' of cold indifference. There were no mock mourn- 
ers in the trappings of atrccted woe ; but there was one 
real mourner who feebly tottered after the corpse. It was 
the aged mother of the deceased — the poor old woman 
whom I had seen seated on the steps of the altar. She 
was supported by a humble friend, who was endeavoring 
to comfort her. A few of the neighboring poor had 
joined the train, and some children of the village were 
running hand in hand, now shouting with unthinking 
mirth, and now pausing to gaze, with childish curiosity, 
on the grief of the mourner. 

As the funeral train approached the grave, the parson 
issued from the church porch, arrayed in the surplice, 
with prayer-book in hand, and attended by the clerk. 
The service, however, was a mere act of charity. The 
deceased had been destitute, and the survivor was penni' 
less. It was shuffled through, therefore, in form, but 
coldly and unfeelingly. The well-fed priest moved but 
a few steps from the church door ; his voice could scarce- 
ly be heard at the grave ; and never did I hear the fune- 



198 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

ral service, that sublime and touching ceremony, turned 
into such a frigid mummery of words. 

I approached the grave. The coffin was placed on 
the ground. On it were inscribed the name and age of 
the deceased — "George Somers, aged 26 years." The 
poor mother had been assisted to kneel down at the head 
of it. Her withered hands were clasped, as if in prayer, 
but I could perceive by a feeble rocking of the body, and 
a convulsive motion of the lips, that she was gazing on 
the last relics of her son, with the yearnings of a mother's 
heart. 

Preparations were made to deposit the coffin in the 
earth. There was that bustling air which breaks so 
harshly on the feelings of grief and affection ; directions 
given in the cold tones of business : the striking of spades 
into sand and gravel ; which, at the grave of those we 
love, is, of all sounds, the most withering. The bustle 
around seemed to waken the mother from a wretched 
reverie. She raised her glazed eyes, and looked about 
with a faint wildness. As the men approached with 
cords to lower the coffin into the grave, she wrung her 
hands, and broke into an agony of grief. The poor wo- 
man who attended her took her by the arm, endeavoring 
to raise her from the earth, and to whisper something 
like consolation — " Nay, now — nay, now — don't take it 
so sorely to heart." She could only shake her head and 
wring her hands, as one not to be comforted. 

As they lowered the body into the earth, the creaking 
of the cords seemed to agonize her ; but when, on some 
accidental obstruction, there was a jostling of the coffin, 
all the tenderness of the mother burst forth ; as if any 
harm could come to him who was far beyond the reach 
of worldly suffering. 

I could see no more — my heart swelled into my 



THK WIDOW AND HEU SON. 199 

throat — my eyes filled with tears — I felt as if I were 
acting a barbarous part in standing by and gazing idly on 
this scene of maternal anguish. I wandered to another 
part of the church-yard, where I remained until the fune- 
ral train had dispersed. 

When I saw the mother slowly and painfully quitting 
the grave, leaving behind her the remains of all that was 
dear to her on earth, and returning to silence and desti- 
tution, my heart ached for her. What, thought I, are 
the distresses of the rich ! they have friends to soothe — 
pleasures to beguile — a world to divert and dissipate 
their griefs. What are the sorrows of the young ! Their 
growing minds soon close above the wound — their elastic 
spirits soon rise beneath the pressure — their green and 
ductile affections soon twine round new objects. But 
the sorrows of the poor, who have no outward applicmces 
to soothe — the sorrows of the aged, with whom life at 
best is but a wintry day, and who can look for no after- 
growth of joy — the sorrows of a widow, aged, solitary, 
destitute, mourning over an only son, the last solace of 
her years ; these are indeed sorrows which make us feel 
the impotency of consolation. 

It was some time before I left the church-yard. On 
my way homeward I met with the woman who had 
acted as comforter : she was just returning from accom- 
panying the mother to her lonely habitation, and I drew 
from her some particulars connected with the affecting 
scene 1 had witnessed. 

The parents of the deceased had resided in the village 
from childhood. They had inhabited one of the neatest 
cottages, and by various rural occupations, and the as- 
sistance of a small garden, had supported themselves 
creditably and comfortably, and led a happy and a blame- 
less life. They had one son, who had grown up to be 



200 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

the staff and pride of their age. — " Oh, sir !" said the good 
woman, " he was such a comely lad, so sweet-tempered, 
so kind to every one around him, so dutiful to his pa- 
rents ! It did one's heart good to see him of a Sunday, 
dressed out in his best, so tall, so straight, so cheery, 
supporting his old mother to church — for she was always 
fonder of leaning on George's arm, than on her good- 
man's ; and, poor soul, she might well be proud of him, 
for a finer lad there was not in the country round." 

Unfortunately, the son was tempted, during a year of 
scarcity and agricultural hadship, to enter into the service 
of one of the small craft that plied on a neighboring river. 
He had not been long in this employ when he was en- 
trapped by a press-gang, and carried ofi' to sea. His 
parents received tidings of his seizure, but beyond that 
they could learn nothing. It was the loss of their main 
prop. The father, who was already infirm, grew heart- 
less and melancholy, and sunk into his grave. The 
widow, left lonely in her age and feebleness, could no 
longer support herself, and came upon the parish. Still 
there was a kind feeling toward her throughout the vil- 
lage, and a certain respect as being one of the oldest in- 
habitants. As no one applied for the cottage, in which she 
had passed so many happy days, she was permitted to 
remain in it, where she lived solitary and almost helpless. 
The few wants of nature were chiefly supplied from the 
scanty productions of her little garden, which the neigh- 
bors would now and then cultivate for her. It was but 
a few days before the time at which these circumstances 
were told me, that she was gathering some vegetables 
for her repast, when she heard the cottage door which 
faced the garden suddenly opened. A stranger came 
out, and seemed to be looking eagerly and wildly around. 
He was dressed in seaman's clothes, was emaciated and 



THE WIDOW AND HER SON. 201 

ghastly pale, and bore the air of one broken by sickness 
and hardships. He saw her, and hastened towards her, 
but his steps were faint and faltering ; he sank on his 
knees before her, and sobbed like a child. The poor 
woman gazed upon him with a vacant and wandering 
eye — " Oh my dear, dear mother ! don't you know your 
son ? your poor boy George ?"' It was indeed the wreck 
of her once noble lad, who, shattered by wounds, by sick- 
ness and foreign imprisonment, had, at length, dragged 
his wasted limbs homeward, to repose among the scenes 
of his childhood. 

I will not attempt to detail the particulars of such a 
meeting, where joy and sorrow were so completely blend- 
ed : still he was alive ! he was come home ! he might yet 
live to comfort and cherish her old age ! Nature, however, 
Avas exhausted in him ; and if any thing had been want- 
ing to finish the work of fate, the desolation of his native 
cottage would have been sutficient. He stretched him- 
self on the pallet on which his widowed mother had pass- 
ed many a sleepless night, and he never rose from it 
again. 

The villagers, when they heard that George Somers 
had returned, crowded to see him, offering every comfort 
and assistance that their humble means afforded. He 
was too weak, however, to talk — he could only look his 
thanks. His mother was his constant attendant ; and he 
seemed unwilling to be helped by any other hand. 

There is something in sickness that breaks down the 
pride of manhood ; that softens the heart, and brings it 
back to the feelings of infancy. Who that has languish- 
ed, even in advanced life, in sickness and despondency ; 
who that has pined on a weary bed in the neglect and 
loneliness of a foreign land ; but has thought on the 
mother " that looked on his childhood," that smoothed 

9* 



202 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

his pillow, and administered to his helplessness ? Oh ! 
there is an enduring tenderness in the love of a mother 
to her son that transcends all other affections of the heart. 
It is neither to be chilled by selfishness, nor daunted by- 
danger, nor weakened by worthlessness, nor stifled by 
ingratitude. She will sacrifice every comfort to his con- 
venience ; she will surrender every pleasure to his enjoy- 
ment ; she will glory in his fame, and exult in his pros- 
perity : — and, if misfortune overtake him, he will be the 
dearer to her from misfortune ; and if disgrace settle 
upon his name, she will still love and cherish him in spite 
of his disgrace ; and if all the world beside cast him off, 
she will be all the world to him. 

Poor George Somers had known what it was to be in 
sickness, and none to soothe — lonely and in prison, and 
none to visit him .He could not endure his mother from 
his sight ; if she moved away, his eye would follow her. 
She would sit for hours by his bed, watching him as he 
slept. Sometimes he would start from a feverish dream, 
and look anxiously up until he saw her bending over him, 
when he would take her hand, lay it on his bosom, and 
fall asleep with the tranquillity of a child. In this way 
he died. 

My first impulse on hearing this humble tale of afflic- 
tion was to visit the cottage of the mourner, and administer 
pecuniary assistance, and, if possible, comfort. I found, 
however, on inquiry, that the good feelings of the villa- 
gers had prompted them to do every thing that the case 
admitted : and as the poor know best how to console each 
other's sorrows, I did not venture to intrude. 

The next Simday I was at the village church ; when, 
to my surprise, I saw the poor old woman tottering down 
the aisle to her accustomed seat on the steps of the altar. 

She had made an effort to put on something like 



THE WIDOW AND HER SON. 203 

mourning for her son; and nothing could be more touch- 
ing than this struggle between pious aflFection and utter 
poverty : a black riband or so — a faded black handker- 
chief, and one or two more such humble attempts to ex- 
press by outward signs that grief which passes show. 
When I looked round upon the storied monuments, the 
stately hatchments, the cold marble pomp, with which 
grandeur mourned magnificently over departed pride, 
and turned to this poor widow, bowed down by age and 
sorrow, at the altar of her God, and offering up the 
prayers and praises of a pious, though a broken heart, I 
felt that this living monument of real grief was worth 
them all. 

I related her story to some of the wealthy members 
of the congregation, and they were moved by it. They 
exerted themselves to render her situation more comforta- 
ble, and to lighten her afflictions. It was, however, but 
smoothing a few steps to the grave. In the course of a 
Sunday or two after, she was missed from her usual seat 
at church, and before I left the neighborhood, I heard 
with a feeling of satisfaction, that she had quietly 
breathed her last, and had gone to rejoin those she loved, 
in that world where sorrow is never known, and friends 
are never parted. 



204 THE CRAYON KEADING BOOK. 



The Voyage. 

Ships, ships, I will descrie you 

Amidst the main, 
I will come and try you. 
What you are protecting, 
And projecting. 
What's your end and aim. 
One goes abroad for merchandise and trading. 
Another stays to keep his country from invading, 
A third is coming home with rich and wealthy lading. 
Halloo ! my fancie, whither wilt thou go ? 

Old Poem. 

To an American visiting Europe, the long voyage he 
has to make is an excellent preparative. The temporary 
absence of worldly scenes and employments produces a 
state of mind peculiarly fitted to receive new and vivid 
impressions. The vast space of waters that separates 
the hemispheres is like a blank page in existence. There 
is no gradual transition by which, as in Europe, the 
features and population of one country blend almost im- 
perceptibly with those of another. From the moment 
you lose sight of the land you have left, all is vacancy 
until you step on the opposite shore, and are launched at 
once into the bustle and novelties of another world. 

In travelling by land there is a continuity of scene, 
and a connected succession of persons and incidents, that 
carry on the story of life, and lessen the efiect of absence 
and separation. We drag, it is true, " a lengthening 
chain " at each remove of our pilgrimage ; but the chain 
is unbroken : we can trace it back link by link ; and we 
feel that the last still grapples us to home. But a wide 
sea voyage severs us at once. It makes us conscious of 
being cast loose from the secure anchorage of settled life, 



THE VOYACJE. 205 

and sent adrift upon a doubtful world. It interposes a 
gulf, not merely imaginary, but real, between us and our 
homes — a gulf subject to tempest, and fear, and uncer- 
tainty, rendering distance palpable, and return precarious. 

Such, at least, was the case with myself. As I saw 
the last blue line of my native land fade away like a 
cloud in the horizon, it seemed as if I had closed one 
volume of the world and its concerns, and had time for 
meditation, before I opened another. That land, too, 
now vanishing from my view, which contained all most 
dear to me in life ; what vicissitudes might occur in it — 
what changes might take place in me, before I should 
visit it again ! Who can tell, when he sets forth to wan- 
der, whither he may be driven by the uncertain currents 
of existence ; or when he may return ; or whether it 
may ever be his lot to revisit the scenes of his childhood ? 

I said that at sea all is vacancy ; I should correct 
the expression. To one given to day-dreaming, and fond 
of losing himself in reveries, a sea voyage is full of sub- 
jects for meditation ; but then they are the wonders of the 
deep, and of the air, and rather tend to abstract the mind 
from worldly themes. I delighted to loll over the quar- 
ter-railing, or climb to the main-top, of a calm day, and 
muse for hours together on the tranquil bosom of a sum- 
mer's sea ; to gaze upon the piles of golden clouds just 
peering above the horizon, fancy them some fairy realms, 
and people them with a creation of my own ; — to watch 
the gentle undulating billows, rolling their silver volumes, 
as if to die away on those happy shores. 

There was a delicious sensation of mingled security 
and awe with which I looked down from my giddy height, 
on the monsters of the deep at their uncouth gambols. 
Shoals of poi poises tumbling about the bow of the ship ; 
the grampus slowly heaving his huge form above the 



203 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

surface ; or the ravenous shark, darting, hke a spectre, 
through the bkie waters. My imagination would conjure 
up all that I had heard or read of the watery world be- 
neath me ; of the finny herds that roam its fathomless 
valleys ; of the shapeless monsters that lurk among the 
very foundations of the earth ; and of those wild phan- 
tasms that swell the tales of fishermen and sailors. 

Sometimes a distant sail, gliding along the edge of 
the ocean, Avould be another theme of idle speculation. 
How interesting this fragment of a world, hastening to 
rejoin the great mass of existence ! What a glorious mon- 
ument of human invention ; which has in a manner tri- 
umphed over wind and wave : has brought the ends of 
the world into communion ; has established an inter- 
change of blessings, pouring into the sterile regions of 
the north all the luxuries of the south ; has diffused the 
light of knowledge and the charities of cultivated life ; 
and has thus bound together those scattered portions of 
the human race, between which nature seemed to have 
thrown an insurmountable barrier. 

We one day descried some shapeless object drift- 
ing at a distance. At sea, every thing that breaks the 
monotony of the surrounding expanse attracts attention. 
It proved to be the mast of a ship that must have been 
completely wrecked ; for there were the remains of hand- 
kerchiefs, by which some of the crew had fastened them- 
selves to this spar, to prevent their being washed off by 
the waves. There was no trace by which the name of 
the ship could be ascertained. The wreck had evidently 
drifted about for many months ; clusters of shell-fish had 
fastened about it, and long sea- weeds flaunted at its sides. 
But where, thought I, is the crew ? Their struggle has 
long been over — they have gone down amidst the roar 
of the tempest — tlieir hones lie whitening among the cav- 



THE VOYAGE. 207 

erns of the deep. Silence, oblivion, like the waves, have 
closed over them, and no one can teh the story of their 
end. What sighs have been wafted after that ship ! what 
prayers offered up at the deserted fireside of home ! How 
often has the mistress, the wife, the mother, pored over 
the daily news, to catch some casual intelligence of this 
rover of the deep ! How has expectation darkened into 
anxiety — anxiety into dread — and dread into despair ! 
Alas ! not one memento may ever return for love to 
cherish. All that may ever be known, is, that she sailed 
from her port, " and was never heard of more !" 

The sight of this wreck, as usual, gave rise to many 
dismal anecdotes. This was particularly the case in the 
evening, when the weather, which had hitherto been fair, 
began to look wild and threatening, and gave indications 
of one of those sudden storms which will sometimes 
break in upon the serenity of a summer voyage. As we 
sat round the dull light of a lamp in the cabin, that made 
the gloom more ghastly, every one had his tale of ship- 
wreck and diaster. I was particularly struck with a short 
one related by the captain. 

" As I was once sailing," said he, " in a fine stout 
ship across the banks of Newfoundland, one of those 
heavy fogs which prevail in those parts rendered it im- 
possible for us to see far ahead even in the daytime ; 
but at night the weather was so thick that we could not 
distinguish any object at twice the length of the ship. I 
kept lights at the mast-head, and a constant watch for- 
ward to look out for fishing smacks which are accustom- 
ed to lie at anchor on the banks. The wind was blow- 
ing a smacking breeze, and we were going at a great 
rate through the water. Suddenly the watch gave the 
alarm of ' a sail ahead !' — it was scarcely uttered before 
we were upon her. She was a small schooner, at anchor. 



208 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

with her broadside towards us. The crew were all 
asleep, and had neglected to hoist a light. We struck 
her just amid-ships. The force, the size, and weight of 
our vessel bore her down below the waves ; we passed 
over her and were hurried on our course. As the crash- 
ing wreck was sinking beneath us, I had a glimpse of 
two or three half-naked wretches rushing from her cabin ; 
they just started from their beds to be swallowed shriek- 
ing by the waves. I heard their drowning cry mingling 
with the wind. The blast that bore it to our ears swept 
us out of all farther hearing. I shall never forget that 
cry ! It was some time before we could put the ship 
about, she was under such headway. We returned, as 
nearly as we could guess, to the place where the smack 
had anchored. We cruised about for several hours in 
the dense fog. We fired signal guns, and listened if we 
might hear the halloo of any survivors : but all was 
silent — we never saw or heard any thing of them more." 
I confess these stories, for a time, put an end to all 
my fine fancies. The storm increased with the night. 
The sea was lashed into tremendous confusion. There 
was a fearful, sullen sound of rushing waves, and broken 
surges. Deep called unto deep. At times the black 
volume of clouds over head seemed rent asunder by 
flashes of lightning which quivered along the foaming 
billows, and made the succeeding darkness doubly terri- 
ble. The thunders bellowed over the wild waste of wa- 
ters, and were echoed and prolonged by the mountain 
waves. As I saw the ship staggering and plunging 
among these roaring caverns, it seemed miraculous that 
she regained her balance, or preserved her buoyancy. 
Her yards would dip into the water : her bow was almost 
buried beneath the waves. Sometimes an impending 
surge appeared ready to overwhelm her, and nothing but 



THE VOYAGE. 209 

a dexterous movement of the helm preserved her from 
the shock. 

When I retired to my cabin, the awful scene still fol- 
lowed me. The whistling of the wind through the rig- 
ging sounded like funereal wailings. The creaking of 
the masts, the straining and groaning of bulk-heads, as 
the ship labored in the weltering sea, were frightful. As 
I heard the waves rushing along the sides of the ship, 
and roaring in my very ear, it seemed as if Death were 
raging round this floating prison, seeking for his prey : 
the mere starting of a nail, the yawning of a seam, miglit 
give him entrance. A fine day, however, with a tran- 
quil sea and favoring breeze, soon put all these dismal 
reflections to flight. It is impossible to resist the glad- 
dening influence of fine weather and fair wind at sea. 
When tlic ship is decked out in all her canvas, and every 
sail swelled, and careering gayly over the waves, how 
lofty, how gallant she appears — how she seems to lord it 
over the deep : 

I miglit fill a volume with the reveries of a sea 
voyage, for with me it is almost a continual reverie — -but 
it is time to get to shore. 

It was a fine sunny morning when the thrilling cry 
of " land !" was given from the mast-head. None but 
those who have experienced it can form an idea of the 
delicious throng of sensations which rush into an Ameri- 
can's bosom, when he first comes in sight of Europe. 
There is a volume of associations with the very name. 
It is the land of promise, teeming with every thing of 
which his childhood has heard, or on which his studious 
years have pondered. 

From that time until the moment of arrival, it was 
all feverish excitement. The ships of war, that prowled 
like guardian giants along the coast ; the headlands of 



210 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

Ireland, stretching out into the channel ; the Welsh 
mountains, towering into the clouds ; all were objects of 
intense interest. As we sailed up the Mersey, I recon- 
noitred the shores with a telescope. My eye dwelt with 
delight on neat cottages, with their trim shrubberies and 
green grass plots. I saw the mouldering ruin of an 
abbey overrun with ivy, and the taper spire of a village 
church rising from the brow of a neighboring hill — all 
were characteristic of England. 

The tide and wind were so favorable that the ship 
was enabled to come at once to the pier. It was throng- 
ed with people ; some, idle lookers-on, others eager ex- 
pectants of friends or relatives. I could distinguish the 
merchant to whom the ship was consigned. I knew 
him by his calculating brow and restless air. His hands 
v/ere thrust into his pockets ; he was whistling thought- 
fully, and walking to and fro, a small space having been 
accorded him by the crowd, in deference to his temporary 
importance. There were repeated cheerings and saluta- 
tions interchanged between the shore and the ship, as 
friends happened to recognize each other. I particularly 
noticed one young woman of humble dress, but interest- 
ing demeanor. She was leaning forward from among 
the crowd ; her eye hurried over the ship as it neared 
the shore, to catch some wished- for countenance. She 
seemed disappointed and agitated ; when I heard a faint 
voice call her name. It was from a poor sailor who had 
been ill all the voyage, and had excited the sympathy 
of every one on board. When the weather was fine, 
his messmates had spread a mattress for him on deck in 
the shade, but of late his illness had so increased, that 
he had taken to his hammock, and only breathed a wish 
that he might see his wife before he died. He had been 
helped on deck as we came up the river, and was now 



THE ALHAMBRA MY MOONLIGHT. 211 

leaning against the shrouds, with a countenance so 
wasted, so pale, so ghastly, that it was no wonder even 
the eye of affection did not recognize him. But at the 
sound of his voice, her eye darted on his features ; it 
read, at once, a whole volume of sorrow ; she clasped 
her hands, uttered a faint shriek, and stood wringing 
them in silent agony. 

All now was hurry and bustle. The meetings of 
acquaintances — the greetings of friends — the consulta- 
tions of men of business. I alone was solitary and idle. 
I had no friend to meet, no cheering to receive. I step- 
ped upon the land of my forefathers — but felt that I was 
a straheer in the land. 



The Alhambra hy Moonlight. 

The moon, which then was invisible, has gradually 
gained upon the nights, and now rolls in full splendor 
above tlie towers, pouring a flood of tempered light into 
every court and hall. The garden beneath my window 
is gently lighted up ; the orange and citron trees are tip- 
ped with silver ; the fountain sparkles in the moonbeams, 
and even the blush of the rose is faintly visible. 

I have sat for hours at my window inhaling the sweet- 
ness of the garden, and musing on the checkered features 
of those whose history is dimly shadowed out in the ele- 
gant memorials around. Sometimes I have issued forth 
at midnight when every thing was quiet, and have wan- 
dered over the whole building. Who can do justice to a 
moonlight night in such a climate, and in such a place ! 
The temperature of an Andalusian midnight, in summer, 



212 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

is perfectly ethereal. We seem lifted up into a purer at- 
mosphere ; there is a serenity of soul, a buoyancy of spir- 
its, an elasticity of frame that render mere existence en- 
joyment. Tlie effect of moonlight, too, on the Alhambra 
has something like enchantment. Every rent and chasm 
of time, every mouldering tint and weather stain disap- 
pears ; the marble resumes its original whiteness ; the 
long colonnades brighten in the moonbeams ; the halls 
are illuminated with a softened radiance, until the whole 
edifice reminds one of the enchanted palace of an Arabi- 
an tale. 

At such time I have ascended to the little pavilion, 
called the Glueen's Toilette, to enjoy its varied and exten- 
sive prospect. To the right, the snowy summits of the 
Sierra Nevada would gleam like silver clouds against the 
darker firmament, and all the outlines of the mountain 
would be softened, yet delicately defined. My delight, 
however, would be to lean over the parapet of the toca- 
dor, and gaze down upon Granada, spread out like a map 
below me ; all buried in deep repose, and its white pala- 
ces and convents sleeping as it were in the moonshine. 

Sometimes I would hear the faint sounds of castanets 
from some party of dancers lingering in the Alameda ; at 
other times I have heard the dubious tones of a guitar, 
and the notes of a single voice rising from some solitary 
street, and have pictured to myself some youthful cava- 
lier serenading his lady's window ; a gallant custom of 
former days, but now sadly on the decline except in the 
remote towns and villages of Spain. 

Such are the scenes that have detained me for many 
an hour loitering about the courts and balconies of the 
castle, enjoying that mixture of reverie and sensation 
which steal away existence in a southern climate — and 
it has been almost morning before I have retired to my 



THE COURT OF LIONS. 213 

bed, and been killed to sleep by the falling waters of the 
fountain of Lindaraxa. 



The Court of Lions. 



The peculiar charm of this old dreamy palace, is its 
power of calling up vague reveries and picturings of the 
past, and thus clothing naked realities with the illusions 
of the memory and the imagination. As I delight to 
walk in these " vain shadows," I am prone to seek those 
parts of the Alhambra which are most favorable to this 
phantasmagoria of the mind ; and none are more so than 
the Court of Lions and its surrounding halls. Here the 
hand of time has fallen the lightest, and the traces of 
Moorish elegance and splendor, exist in almost their 
original brilliancy. Earthquakes have shaken the foun- 
dations of this pile, and rent its rudest towers, yet see — 
not one of those slender columns has been displaced, not 
an arch of that light and fragile colonnade has given way, 
and all the fairy fretwork of these domes, apparently as 
unsubstantial as the crystal fabrics of a morning's frost, 
yet exist after the lapse of centuries, almost as fresh as 
from the hand of the Moslem artist. 

I write in the midst of these mementoes of the past, in 
the fresh hour of early morning, in the fated hall of the 
Abencerrages. The blood-stained fountain, the legenda- 
ry monument of their massacre, is before me ; the lofty 
jet almost casts its dew upon my paper. How difficult 
to reconcile the ancient tale of violence and blood, with 
the gentle and peaceful scene around ! Every thing here 
appears calculated to inspire kind and happy feelings, for 



214 THE CRAYOiN READING BOOK. 

every thing is delicate and beautiful. The very light 
falls tenderly from above, through the lantern of a dome 
tinted and wrought as if by fairy hands. Through the 
ample and fretted arch of the portal, I behold the Court 
of Lions, with brilliant sunshine gleaming along its col- 
onnades and sparkling in its fountains. The lively swal- 
low dives into the court, and then surging upwards, darts 
away twittering over the roof ; the busy bee toils hum- 
ming among the flower beds, and painted butterflies hov- 
er from plant to plant, and flutter up, and sport with each 
other in the sunny air. — It needs but a slight exertion of 
the fancy to picture some pensive beauty of the harem, 
loitering in these secluded haunts of oriental luxury. 

He, however, who would behold this scene under an 
aspect more in unison with its fortunes, let him come 
when the shadows of evening temper the brightness of 
the court and throw a gloom into the surrounding halls, 
— then nothing can be more serenely melancholy, or 
more in harmony with the tale of departed grandeur. 

At such times I am apt to seek the Hall of Justice 
whose deep shadowy arcades extend across the upper end 
of the court. Here were performed, in presence of Fer- 
dinand and Isabella, and their triumphant court, the 
pompous ceremonies of high mass, on taking possession 
of the Alhambra. The very cross is still to be seen upon 
the wall, where the altar was erected, and where ofiicia- 
ted the grand cardinal of Spain, and others of the high- 
est religious dignitaries of the land. 

I picture to myself the scene when this place was fill- 
ed with the conquering host, that mixture of mitred pre- 
late, and shorn monk, and steel-clad knight, and silken 
courtier ; when crosses and crosiers, and religious stand- 
ards were mingled with proud armorial ensigns and the 
banners of the haughty chiefs of Spain, and flaimted ia 



^i 



THE SITtTATION OF NEW- YORK. 215 

triumph through these Moslem halls, I picture to my- 
self Columbus, the future discoverer of a world, taking 
his modest stand in a remote corner, the humble and 
neglected spectator of the pageant. I see in imagination 
the Catholic sovereigns prostrating themselves before the 
altar and pouring forth thanks for their victory, while the 
vaults resound with sacred minstrelsy and the deep-toned 
Te Deum. 

The transient illusion is over — the pageant melts from 
the fancy — monarch, priest, and warrior return into obli- 
vion, with the poor Moslems over whom they exulted. 
The hall of their triumph is waste and desolate. The 
bat flits about its twilight vaults, and the owl hoots from 
the neighboring tower of Comares. 



The Situation of New- York. 

It was mdeed — as my great-grandfather used to say 
— though in truth I never heard him, for he died, as 
might be expected, before I was born — " It was indeed 
a spot on which the eye might have revelled for ever, in 
ever new and never ending beauties." The island of 
Mannahata spread wide before them, like some sweet 
vision of fancy, or some fair creation of industrious 
magic. Its hills of smiling green swelled gently one 
above another, crowned with lofty trees of luxuriant 
growth ; some pointing their tapering foliage towards 
the clouds, which were gloriously transparent ; and 
others loaded with a verdant burthen of clambering 
vines, bowing their branches to the earth, that was 



216 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

covered with flowers. On the gentle declivities of the 
hills were scattered in gay profusion, the dog-wood, the 
sumach, and the wild- brier, whose scarlet berries and 
white blossoms glowed brightly among the deep green 
of the surrounding foliage ; and here and there a curling 
column of smoke rising from the little glens that opened 
along the shore, seemed to promise the weary voyagers 
a welcome at the hands of their fellow creatures. As 
they stood gazing with entranced attention on the scene 
before them, a red man, crowned with feathers, issued 
from one of these glens, and after contemplating in 
silent wonder the gallant ship, as she sat like a stately 
swan swimming on a silver lake, sounded the warwhoop, 
and bounded into the woods like a wild deer. 



Italian Scenery. 

I FORGOT in an instant all my perils and fatigues 
at this magnificent view of the sunrise in the midst of 
the mountains of the Abruzzi. It was on these heights 
that Hannibal first pitched his camp, and pointed out 
Rome to his followers. The eye embraces a vast extent 
of country. The minor height of Tusculum, with its 
villas and its sacred ruins, lie below ; the Sabine hills 
and the Albanian mountains stretch on either hand ; 
and beyond Tusculum and Frascati spreads out the 
immense Campagna, with its lines of tombs, and here 
and there a broken aqueduct stretching across it, and 
the towers and domes of the eternal city in the midst. 

Fancy this scene lit up by the glories of a rising 



ITALIAN SCENERY. 217 

sun, and bursting upon my sight as I looked forth from 
among the majestic forests of the Abruzzi. Fancy, too 
the savage foreground, made still more savage by groups 
of banditti, armed and dressed in their wild picturesque 
manner, and you will not wonder that the enthusiasm 
of a painter for a moment overpowered all his other 
feelings. * * * * # 

In its neighborhood are the ruins of the villas of 
Cicero, Scylla, Lucullus, Rufinus, and other illustrious 
Romans, who sought refuge here occasionally from their 
toils, in the bosom of a soft and luxurious repose. From 
the midst of delightful bowers, refreshed b/ the pure 
mountain breeze, the eye looks over a romantic land- 
scape full of poetical and historical associations. The 
Albanian mountains ; Tivoli, once the favorite residence 
of Horace and Mecsenas ; the vast, deserted, melancholy 
Campagna, with the Tiber winding through it, and St. 
Peter's dome swelling in the midst, the monument, as it 
were, over the grave of ancient Rome. * « # 

It was now about noon, and every thing had sunk 
into repose, like the sleeping bandit before me. The 
noontide stillness that reigned over tnese mountains, the 
vast landscape below, gleaming with distant towns, and 
dotted with various habitations and signs of life, yet all 
so silent, had a powerful effect upon my mind. The 
intermediate valleys, too, which lie among the moun- 
tains, have a peculiar air of solitude. Few sounds are 
heard at mid-day to break the quiet of the scene. Some- 
times the whistle of a solitary muleteer, lagging with 
his lazy animal along the road which winds through 
the centre of the valley ; sometimes the faint piping of 
a shepherd's reed from the side of the mountain, or 
sometimes the bell of an ass slowly pacing along, fol- 

10 



218 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 



1 



lowed by a monk with bare feet, and bare shining 
head, and carrying provisions to his convent. * * * 

The setting sun, dechning beyond the vast Cam- 
pagna, shed its rich yellow beams on the woody summit 
of the Abruzzi. Several mountains crowned with snow 
shone brilliantly in the distance, contrasting their bright- 
ness with others, which, thrown into shade, assumed 
deep tints of purple and violet. As the evening ad- 
vanced, the landscape darkened into a sterner charac- 
ter. The immense solitude around ; the wild mountains 
broken into rocks and precipices, intermingled with vast 
oaks, corks, and chestnuts ; and the groups of banditti 
in the foreground, reminded me of the savage scenes 
of Salvator Rosa. 

The night was magnificent. The moon, rising 
above the horizon in a cloudless sky, faintly lit up by 
the grand features of the mountain ; while lights twink- 
ling here and there, like terrestrial stars in the wide 
dusky expanse of the landscape, betrayed the lonely 
cabins of the shepherds. 



Voyage tip the Hudson. 

Now did the soft breezes of the south steal sweetly 
over the face of nature, tempering the panting heats of 
summer into genial and prolific warmth ; when that 
miracle of hardihood and chivalric virtue, the dauntless 
Peter Stuyvaeant, spread his canvas to the wind, and 
departed from the fair island of Mannahata. The 
galley in which he embarked was sumptuously adorned 
with pendants and streamers of gorgeous dyes, which 



VOYAGE UP THE HUDSON. 219 

fluttered gayly in the wind, or drooped their ends into 
the bosom of the stream. The bow and poop of this 
majestic vessel were gallantly bedight, after the rarest 
Dutch fashion, with figures of little pursy Cupids with 
periwigs on their heads, and bearing in their hands 
garlands of flowers, the like of which are not to be 
found in any book of botany ; being the matchless 
flowers which floiuished in the golden age, and exist 
no longer, unless it be in the imaginations of ingenious 
carvers of wood and discolorers of canvas. 

Thus rarely decorated, in style befitting the puis- 
sant potentate of the Manhattoes, did the galley of Peter 
Stuyvesant launch forth upon the bosom of the lordly 
Hudson, which, as it rolled its broad waves to the ocean, 
seemed to pause for a while and swell with pride, as if 
conscious of the illustrious burthen it sustained. 

But trust me, gentlefolk, far other was the scene 
presented to the contemplation of the crew from that 
which may be witnessed at this degenerate day. Wild- 
ness and savage majesty reigned on the borders of this 
mighty river — the hand of cultivation had not as yet 
laid low the dark forest, and tamed the features of the 
landscape — nor had the frequent sail of commerce broken 
in upon the profound and awful solitude of ages. Here 
and there might be seen a rude wigwam perched among 
the clifls of the mountains with its curling column of 
smoke mounting in the transparent atmosphere — but so 
loftily situated that the whoopings of the savage chil- 
dren, gamboling on the margin of the dizzy heights, 
fell almost as faintly on the ear as do the notes of the 
lark, when lost in the azure vault of heaven. Now 
and then, from the beetling brow of some precipice, 
the wild deer would look timidly down upon the splen- 
did pageant as it passed below ; and then, tossing his 



220 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

antlers in the air, would bound away into the thickest 
of the forest. 

Through such scenes did the stately vessel of Peter 
Stuyvesant pass. Now did they skirt the bases of the 
rocky heights of Jersey, which spring up like ever- 
lasting walls, reaching from the waves unto the heavens, 
and were fashioned, if tradition may be believed, in 
times long past, by the mighty spirit Manetho, to protect 
his favorite abodes from the unhallowed eyes of mortals. 
Now did they career it gayly across the vast expanse 
of Tappan Bay, whose wide-extended shores present a 
variety of delectable scenery — here the bold promon- 
tory, crowned with embowering trees, advancing into 
the bay — there the long woodland slope, sweeping up 
from the shore in rich luxuriance, and terminating in 
the upland precipice — while at a distance a long waving 
line of rocky heights threw their gigantic shades across 
the water. Now would they pass where some modest 
little interval, opening among these stupendous scenes, 
yet retreating as it were for protection into the embraces 
of the neighboring mountains, displayed a rural para- 
dise, fraught with sweet and pastoral beauties ; the 
velvel-tufted lawn — the bushy copse — the tinkling riv- 
ulet, stealing through the fresh and vivid verdure — on 
whose banks was situated some little Indian village, 
or peradventure, the rude cabin of some solitary hunter. 

The different periods of the revolving day seemed 
each, with cunning magic, to diffuse a different charm 
over the scene. Now would the jovial sun break glo- 
riously from the east, blazing from the summits of the 
hills, and sparkling the landscape with a thousand dewy 
gems ; while along the borders of the river were seen 
heavy masses of mist, which, like midnight caitiffs, dis- 
turbed at his approach, made a sluggish retreat, rolling 



VOYAGE UP THE HUDSON. 221 

in sullen reluctance up the mountains. At such times 
all was brightness, and life, and gayety — the atmosphere 
was of an indescribable pureness and transparency — the 
birds broke forth in wanton madrigals, and the freshen- 
ing breezes wafted the vessel merrily on her course. 
But when the sun sunk amid a flood of glory in the 
west, mantling the heavens and the earth with a thou- 
sand gorgeous dyes — then all was calm, and silent, and 
magnificent. The late swelling sail hung lifelessly 
against the mast — the seaman, with folded arms, leaned 
against the shrouds, lost in that involuntary musing 
which the sober grandeur of nature commands in the 
rudest of her children. The vast bosom of the Hudson 
was like an unruflled mirror, reflecting the golden splen- 
dor of the heavens ; excepting that now and then a 
bark canoe would steal across its surface, filled with 
painted savages, whose gay feathers glared brightly, as 
perchance a lingering^ ray of the setting sun gleamed 
upon them from the western mountains. 

But when the hour of twilight spread its majestic 
mists around, then did the face of nature assume a thou- 
sand fugitive charms, which to the worthy heart that 
seeks enjoyment in the glorious works of its Maker are 
inexpressibly captivating. The mellow dubious light 
that prevailed just served to tinge with illusive colors 
the softened features of the scenery. The deceived but 
delighted eye sought vainly to discern in the broad 
masses of shade, the separating line between the land 
and water; or to distinguish the fading objects that 
seemed sinking into chaos. Now did the busy fancy 
supply the feebleness of vision, producing with indus- 
trious craft a fairy creation of her own. Under her 
plastic wand the barren rocks frowned upon the watery 
waste, in the semblance of lofty towers, and high em- 



222 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

battled castles— trees assumed the direful forms of mighty- 
giants, and the inaccessible summits of the mountains 
seemed peopled with a thousand shadowy beings. 

Now broke forth from the shores the notes of an 
innumerable variety of insects, which filled the air Avith 
a strange but not inharmonious concert — while ever 
and anon was heard the melancholy plaint of the Whip- 
poor-will, who, perched on some lone tree, wearied the 
ear of night with -his incessant moanings. The mind, 
soothed into a hallowed melancholy, listened with pen- 
sive stillness to catch and distinguish each sound that 
vaguely echoed from the shore — now and then startled 
perchance by the whoop of some straggling savage, or 
by the dreary howl of a wolf, stealing forth upon his 
nightly prowl ings. 

Thus happily did they pursue their course, until 
they entered upon those awful defiles denominated the 
HIGHLANDS, wlicrc it would sccm that the gigantic 
Titans had erst waged their impious war with heaven, 
piling up cliffs on cliffs, and hurling vast masses of rock 
in wild confusion. But in sooth very different is the his- 
tory of these cloud-capt mountains. These in ancient 
days, before the Hudson poured its waters from the lakes, 
formed one vast prison, within whose rocky bosom the 
omnipotent Manetho confined the rebellious spirits who 
repined at his control. Here, bound in adamantine 
chains, or jammed in rifted pines, or crushed by pon- 
derous rocks, they groaned for many an age. At length 
the conquering Hudson, in its career towards the ocean, 
burst open their prison-house, rolling its tide trium- 
phantly through the stupendous ruins. 

Still, however, do many of them lurk about their old 
abodes ; and these it is, according to venerable legends, 
that cause the echoes which resound throughout these 



THE CHARACTER OF COLUMBUS. 223 

awful solitudes ; which are nothing but their angry 
clamors when any noise disturbs the profoundness of 
their repose. For when the elements are agitated by 
tempest, when the winds are up and the thunder rolls, 
then horrible is the yelling and howling of these troubled 
spirits, making the mountains to rebellow with their hid- 
eous uproar ; for at such times it is said that they think 
the great Mauetho is returning once more to plunge them 
in gloomy caverns, and renew their intolerable captivity. 



The Character of Colu?nbus. 

Great men are compounds of great and little quali- 
ties. Indeed, much of their greatness arises from their 
mastery over the imperfections of their nature, and their 
noblest actions are sometimes struck forth by the collision 
of their merits and their defects. 

In Columbus were singularly combined the practical 
and the poetical. His mind grasped all kinds of know- 
ledge, whether procured by study or observation, which 
bore upon his theories ; impatient of the scanty aliment 
of the day, " his impetuous ardor," as has well been ob- 
served, " threw him into the study of the fathers of the 
church ; the Arabian Jews, and the ancient geographers ;" 
while his daring but irregular genius, bursting from the 
Umits of imperfect science, bore him to conclusions far 
beyond the intellectual vision of his contemporaries. If 
some of his conclusions were erroneous, they were at 
least ingenious and splendid ; and their error resulted 
from the clouds which still hung over his peculiar path 
of enterprise. His own discoveries enlightened the igno- 



224 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

ranee of the age ; guided conjecture to certainty, and 
dispelled that very darkness with which he had been 
obliged to struggle. 

Columbus was a man of quick sensibility, liable to 
great excitement, to sudden and strong impressions, and 
powerful impulses. He was naturally irritable and im- 
petuous, and keenly sensible to injury and injustice ; yet 
the quickness of his temper was counteracted by the 
benevolence and generosity of his heart. The magna- 
nimity of his nature shone forth through all the troubles 
of his stormy career. Though continually outraged in 
his dignity, and braved in the exercise of his command ; 
though foiled in his plans, and endangered in his person 
by the seditions of turbulent and worthless men, and 
that too at times when suffering under anxiety of mind 
and anguish of body sufficient to exasperate the most 
patient, yet he restrained his valiant and indignant spirit, 
by the strong powers of his mind, and brought himself 
to forbear, and reason, and even to supplicate : nor should 
we fail to notice how free he was from all feeling of re- 
venge, how ready to forgive and forget, on the least signs 
of repentance and atonement. He has been extolled for 
his skill in controlling others ; but far greater praise is 
due to him for his firmness in governing himself. 

His natural benignity made him accessible to all 
kinds of pleasurable sensations from external objects. In 
his letters and journals, instead of detailing circumstances 
with the technical precision of a mere navigator, he no- 
tices the beauties of nature with the enthusiasm of a poet 
or a painter. As he coasts the shores of the New World, 
the reader participates in the enjoyment with which he 
describes, in his imperfect but picturesque Spanish, the 
varied objects around him ; the blandness of the temper- 
ature, the purity of the atmosphere, the fragrance of the 



THE CHARACTER, OF COLUMBUS. 225 

air, " full of dew and sweetness," the verdure of the for- 
ests, the magnificence of the trees, the grandeur of the 
mountains, and the limpidity and freshness of the run- 
ning streams. New delight springs up for him in every 
scene. He extols each new discovery as more beautiful 
than the last, and each as the most beautiful in the 
world ; until, with his simple earnestness, he tells the 
sovereigns, that, having spoken so highly of the preceding 
islands, he fears that they will not credit him, when he 
declares that the one he is actually describing surpasses 
them all in excellence. 

He was devoutly pious ; religion mingled with the 
whole course of his thoughts and actions, and shone 
forth in his most private and unstudied writings. When- 
ever he made any great discovery, he celebrated it by 
solemn thanks to God. The voice of prayer and melody 
of praise rose from his ships when they first beheld 
the New World, and his first action on landing was to 
prostrate himself upon the earth and return thanksgiv- 
ings. Every evening, the Salve Regina, and other 
vesper hymns, were chanted by his crew, and masses 
were performed in the beautiful groves bordering the 
wild shores of this heathen land. All his great enter- 
prises were undertaken in the name of the Holy Trinity, 
and he partook of the communion previous to embarka- 
tion. He was a firm believer in the efficacy of vows and 
penances and pilgrimages, and resorted to them in times 
of difficulty and danger. The religion thus deeply seated 
in his soul diffused a sober dignity and divine composure 
over his whole demeanor. His language was pure and 
guarded, free from all imprecations, oaths, and other 
irreverent expressions. 

With all the visionary fervor of his imagination, its 
fondest dreams fell short of the reality. He died in ig- 

10* 



226 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

norance of the real grandeur of his discovery. Until his 
last breath he entertained tlie idea that he had merely 
opened a new way to the old resorts of opulent com- 
merce, and had discovered some of the wild regions of 
the East. He supposed Hispaniola to be the ancient 
Ophir which had been visited by the ships of Solomon, 
and that Cuba and Terra Firma were but remote parts 
of Asia. What visions of glory would have broken upon 
his mind could he have known that he had indeed dis- 
covered a new continent, equal to the whole of the old 
Avorld in magnitude, and separated by two vast oceans 
from all the earth hitherto known by civilized man ! 
And how would his magnanimous spirit have been con- 
soled, amidst the afflictions of age and the cares of penu- 
ry, the neglect of a fickle public, and the injustice of an 
ungrateful king, could he have anticipated the splendid 
empires which were to spread over the beautiful world 
he had disco veered; and the nations, and tongues, and 
languages which were to fill its lands with his renown, 
and revere and bless his name to the latest posterity ! 



A Thunder ^torm on the Hudson. 

It was the latter part of a calm, sultry day, that they 
floated gently with the tide between these stern moun- 
tains. There was that perfect quiet which prevails over 
nature in the languor of summer heat ; the turning of a 
plank, or the accidental falling of an oar on deck, was 
echoed from the mountain side, and reverberated along 
the shores ; and if by chance the captain gave a shout of 
command, there were airy tongues which mocked it from 
every cliiT. 



A THUNDER-STORM ON THE HUDSON. 227 

Dolph gazed about him in iniite delight and wonder 
at these scenes of nature's magnificence. To the left the 
Dunderberg reared its woody precipices, height over 
height, forest over forest, away into the deep summer sky. 
To the right strutted forth the bold promontory of An- 
tony's Nose, with a solitary eagle wheeling about it ; 
while beyond, mountain succeeded to mountain, until 
they seemed to lock their arms together, and confine this 
mighty river in their embraces. There was a feeling of 
quiet luxury in gazing at the broad, green bosoms here 
and there scooped out among the precipices ; or at wood- 
lands high in air, nodding over the edge of some beetling 
bluff", and their foliage all transparent in the yellow sun- 
shine. 

In the midst of his admiration, Dolph remarked a 
pile of bright, snowy clouds peering above the western 
heights. It was succeeded by another, and another, each 
seemingly pushing onwards its predecessor, and towering 
with dazzling brilliancy, in the deep blue atmosphere ; 
and now muttering peals of thunder were faintly heard 
rolling behind the mountains. The river, hitherto still 
and glassy, reflecting pictures of the sky and land, now 
showed a dark ripple at a distance, as the breeze came 
creeping up it. The fish-hawks wheeled and screamed, 
and sought their nests on the high dry trees ; the crows 
flew clamorously to the crevices of the rocks, and all 
nature seemed conscious of the approaching thunder-gust. 

The clouds now rolled in volumes over the moun- 
tain-tops ; their summits still bright and snowy, but the 
lower parts of an inky blackness. The rain began to 
patter down in broad and scattered drops ; the wind fresh- 
ened, and curled up the waves ; at length it seemed as if 
the bellying clouds were torn open by the mountain-tops, 
and complete torrents of rain came rattling down. The 



228 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

lightning leaped from cloud to cloud, and streamed quiv- 
ering against the rocks, splitting and rending the stoutest 
forest-trees. The thunder burst in tremendous explo- 
sions ; the peals were echoed from mountain to moun- 
tain ; they crashed upon Dunderberg, and rolled up the 
long defile of the Highlands, each headland making a 
new echo, until old Bull Hill seemed to bellow back the 
storm. 

For a time the scudding rack and mist, and the sheet- 
ed rain, almost hid the landscape from the sight. There 
was a fearful gloom, illumined still more fearfully by the 
streams of lightning which glittered among the rain- 
drops. Never had Dolph beheld such an absolute war- 
ring of the elements ; it seemed as if the storm was tear- 
ing and rending its way through this mountain defile, 
and had brought all the artillery of heaven into action. 

The vessel was hurried on by the increasing wind, 
until she came to where the river makes a sudden bend, 
the only one in the whole course of its majestic career.* 
Just as they turned the point, a violent flaw of wind 
came sweeping down a mountain gully, bending the for- 
est before it, and, in a moment, lashing up the river into 
white froth and foam. The captain saw the danger, and 
cried out to lower the sail. Before the order could be 
obeyed, the flaw struck the sloop, and threw her on her 
beam-ends. Every thing now was fright and confusion : 
the flapping of the sails, the whistling and rushing of 
the wind, the bawling of the captain and crew, the shriek- 
ing of the passengers, all mingled with the rolling and 
bellowing of the thunder. 

* This must have been the bend at West Point. 



A SUMMER EVENING IN AMERICA. 229 



Absent Friends. 

Sweet, O Asem ! is the memory of distant friends ! 
Like the mellow ray of a departing sun, it falls tenderly, 
yet sadly, on the heart. Every hour of absence from 
my native land rolls heavily by, like the sandy wave of 
the desert ; and the fair shores of my country rise bloom- 
ing to my imagination, clothed in the soft, illusive charms 
of distance. I sigh, — yet no one listens to the sigh of 
the captive : I shed the bitter tear of recollection, but no 
one sympathizes in the tear of the turbaned stranger ! 



A Summer Evening in Am,erica. 

Who that has rambled by the side of one of our 
majestic rivers, at the hour of sunset, when the wildly 
romantic scenery around is softened and tinted by the 
voluptuous mist of evening; when the bold and swelling 
outlines of the distant mountain seem melting into the 
glowing horizon, and a rich mantle of refulgence is 
thrown over the whole expanse of the heavens, but must 
have felt how abundant is Nature in sources of pure 
enjoyment ; how luxuriant in all that can enliven the 
senses, or delight the imagination. The jocund zephyr, 
full freighted with native fragrance, sues sweetly to the 
senses ; the chirping of the thousand varieties of insects 
with which our woodlands abound, forms a concert of 
simple melody ; even the barking of the farm-dog, the 
lowing of the cattle, the tinkling of their bells, and the 
strokes of the woodman's axe from the opposite shore. 



230 THU CRAYON I?EADrN(; BOOK. 

seem to partake of the softness of the scene, and fall 
tunefully upon the ear ; while the voice of the villager, 
chanting some rustic ballad, swells from a distance, in 
the semblance of the very music of harmonious love. 



Influence of Nature on the Heart. 

1 CAST my eyes around ; all is serene and beautiful : 
the sweet tranquillity, the hallowed calm, settle upon 
my soul. No jarring chord vibrates in my bosom ; every 
angry passion is at rest ; I am at peace with the whole 
World, and hail all manlcind as friends and brothers. — 
Blissful moments ! ye recall the careless days of my 
boyhood, when mere existence was happiness ; when 
hope was certainty ; this world a paradise ; and every 
woman a ministering angel ! Surely, man was designed 
for a tenant of the universe, instead of being pent up in 
these dismal cages, these dens of strife, disease, and 
discord. We were created to range the fields, to sport 
among the groves, to build castles in the air, and have 
every one of them realized ! 

Who is there that does not fondly turn at times, to 
linger round those scenes which were once the haunt of 
his boyhood, ere his heart grew heavy, and his head 
waxed gray ; aijd to dwell with fond affection on the 
friends who have twined themselves round his heart — 
mingled in all his enjoyments — contributed to all his 
felicities 1 



LOVE OF FAME. 231 



Love of Fame. 

Indignant at the narrow limits which circumscribe 
existence, ambition is for ever strugghng to soar beyond 
them ; — to triumph over space and time, and to bear a 
name, at least, above the inevitable oblivion in which 
every tiling else that concerns us must be involved. It is 
this which prompts the patriot to his most heroic achieve- 
ments ; which inspires the sublimest strains of the poet, 
and breathes ethereal fire into the productions of the 
painter and the statuary. 

For this the monarch rears the lofty column ; the 
laurelled conqueror claims the triumphal arch ; while 
the obscure individual, who has moved in an humbler 
sphere, asks but a plain and simple stone to mark his 
grave, and bear to the next generation this important 
truth, that he was born, died, — and was buried. It was 
this passion which once erected the vast Numidian piles, 
whose ruins we have so often regarded with wonder, as 
the shades of evening — fit emblems of oblivion — gradu- 
ally stole over and enveloped them in darkness. It was 
this which gave being to those sublime monuments of 
Saracenic magnificence, which nod, in mouldering deso- 
lation, as the blast sweeps over our deserted plains. — 
How futile are all our efforts to evade the obliterating 
hand of time ! As I traversed the dreary wastes of 
Egypt, on my journey to Grand Cairo, I stopped my 
camel for a while, and contemplated, in awful admira- 
tion, the stupendous pyramids. An appalling silence 
prevailed around,^such as reigns in the wilderness 
when the tempest is hushed, and the beasts of prey 
have retired to their dens. 



232 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

The myriads that had once been employed in rearing 
these lofty mementoes of hmnan vanity, whose busy 
hum once enlivened the solitude of the desert, — had all 
been swept from the earth by the irresistible arm of 
death — all were mingled with their native dust — all 
were forgotten ! Even the mighty names which these 
sepulchres were designed to perpetuate, had long since 
faded from remembrance ; history and tradition afforded 
but vague conjectures, and the pyramids imparted a hu- 
miliating lesson to the candidate for immortality. The 
storied obelisk — the triumphal arch — the swelling dome 
— shall crumble into dust, and the names they would 
preserve from oblivion shall often pass away, before their 
own duration is accomplished. 



Some Traits of Sir W. Scoffs Character. 

It was delightful to observe the generous mode in 
which he spoke of all his literary contemporaries ; quoting 
the beauties of their works, and pointing out their merits ; 
and this, too, with respect to persons with whom he might 
have been supposed to be at variance in literature or 
politics. 

His humor in conversation was genial, and free from 
all causticity. He had a quick perception of faults and 
foibles ; but he looked upon poor human nature with an 
indulgent eye, relishing what was good and pleasant, 
tolerating what was frail, and pitying what Avas evil. — 
The kindness and generosity of his nature tempered the 
sharpness of his wit, and would not allow him to be a 
satirist. I do not recollect a single sneer throughout his 
conversation, any more than throughout his works. 



SIR WALTER SCOTT. 233 

Of his public character all the world can judge. His 
works have incorporated themselves v/ith the thoughts 
and concerns of the whole civilized world for a quarter 
of a century, and have had a controlling influence over 
the age in which he lived. 

Who is there that, on looking back over a great por- 
tion of his life, does not find the genius of Scott admin- 
istering to his pleasures, beguiling his cares, and soothing 
his lonely sorrows 1 Who does not still guard his works 
as a treasury of pure enjoyment, an armory, to which to 
resort in time of need, to find weapons with which to 
fight off the evils and griefs of life ? 

For my own part, in periods of dejection, when every 
thing around me was joyless, I have hailed the announce- 
ment of a new work from his pen, as an earnest of cer- 
tain pleasure in store for me, and have looked forward to 
it, as a traveller on a waste looks to a green spot at a 
distance, where he feels assured of solace and refresh- 
ment. When I consider how much he has thus con- 
tributed to the better liours of my past existence, and 
how independent his works still make me, at times, of all 
the world for my enjoyment, I bless my stars that cast 
my lot in his days, to be thus cheered and gladdened by 
the outpourings of his genius. I consider it one of the 
few unmingled gratifications that I have derived from 
my literary career, that it has elevated me into genial 
communion with such a spirit. 



234 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 



Character of Goldsmith. 

His works have outlasted generations of works of 
higher power and wider scope, and will continue to out- 
last succeeding generations ; for they have that magic 
charm of style which embalms works to perpetuity. 

The faults of Goldsmith, at the worst, were but nega- 
tive, while his merits were great and decided. He was 
no one's enemy but his own. His errors, in the main, 
inflicted evil on none but himself, and were so blended 
with humorous, and even afiecting circumstances, as to 
disarm anger, and conciliate kindness. Where eminent 
talent is united to spotless virtue, we are awed and daz- 
zled into admiration ; but our admiration is apt to be 
cold and reverential ; while there is something in the 
harmless infirmities of a good and great, but erring indi- 
vidual, that pleads touchingly to our nature. And the 
heart yearns towards the object of our idolatry, when 
we find that, like ourselves, he is mortal, and is frail. 

The epithet so often heard, and in such friendly tones, 
of " Poor Goldsmith," speaks volumes. Few Avho con- 
sider the compound of admirable and whimsical quali- 
ties which form his character, would wish to prune 
away its eccentricities, trim its grotesque luxuriance, 
and clip it down to the decent formalities of rigid virtue, 
"Let not his frailties be remembered," said Johnson, 
" he was a very great man." But, for our part, we rather 
say : " Let them be remembered." For we question 
whether he himself would not feel gratified in hearing 
his reader, after dwelling with admiration on the proofs 
of his greatness, close the volume with the kind-hearted 
phrase, so fondly, and so familiarly ejaculated, of " Poor 
Goldsmith." 



BIRDS OF SPRING. 235 

Birds of Spring. 

Those who have passed the winter in the country, 
are sensible of the dehghtf'ul influences that accompany 
the earhest indications of Spring ; and of these, none are 
more dehghtful than the first notes of the birds. 

There is one modest httle sad-colored bird, nluch re- 
sembling a wren, which came about the house just on 
the skirts of winter, when not a blade of grass was to be 
seen, and when a few prematurely warm days had given 
a flattering foretaste of soft weather. He sang early in 
the dawning, long before sunrise, and late in the evening, 
just before the closing in of night, his matin and his ves- 
per hymns. It is true he sang occasionally throughout 
the day ; but at these still hours, his song was more 
remarked. He sat on a leafless tree, just before the win- 
dow, and warbled forth his notes, free and simple, but 
singularly sweet, with something of a plaintive tone, that 
heightened their eflJect. 

The first morning that he was heard, was a joyous 
one among the young folks of my household. The long, 
deathlike sleep of winter was at an end ; Nature was 
once more awakening ; they now promised themselves 
the immediate appearance of buds and blossoms. I was 
reminded of the tempest-tossed crew of Columbus, when, 
after their long dubious voyage, the field-birds came sing- 
ing round the ship, though still far at sea, rejoicing them 
with the belief of the immediate proximity of land. A 
sharp return of winter almost silenced my little songster, 
and dashed the hilarity of the household ; yet still he 
poured forth, now and then, a few plaintive notes, be- 
tween the frosty pipings of the breeze, like gleams of 
sunshine between wintry clouds. 

I have consulted my book of ornithology in vam, to 



236 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

find out the name of this kindly httle bird, who certainly 
deserves honor and favor far beyond his modest preten- 
sions. He comes Hkc the lowly violet, the most unpre- 
tending, but welcomest of flowers, breathing the sweet 
promise of the early year. 

Another of our feathered visitors, who follow close 
upon the steps of winter, is the Pe-wit, or Pe-wee, or 
Phoebe-bird ; for he is called by each of these names, 
from a fancied resemblance to the sound of his monoto- 
nous note. He is a sociable little being, and seeks the 
habitation of man. A pair of them have built beneath 
my porch, and have reared several broods there, for two 
years past, their nest being never disturbed. They arrive 
early in the spring, just when the crocus and the snow- 
drop begin to peep forth. Their first chirp spreads glad- 
ness through the house. " The Phosbe-birds have come !" 
is heard on all sides ; they are welcomed back like mem- 
bers of the family ; and speculations are made upon 
where they have been, and what countries ihey have 
seen, during their long absence. Their arrival is the 
more cheering, as it is pronounced, by the old weather- 
wise people of the country, the sure sign that the severe 
frosts are at an end, and that the gardener may resume 
his labors with confidence. 

About this time, too, arrives the bluebird, so poetically 
yet truly described by Wilson. His appearance gladdens 
the whole landscape. You hear his soft warble in every 
field. He sociably approaches your habitation, and takes 
up his residence in your vicinity. 

The happiest bird of our spring, however, and one 
that rivals the European lark, in my estimation, is the 
Boblincon, or Boblink, as he is commonly called. He 
arrives at that choice portion of the year, which, in this 
latitude, answers to the description of the month of May, 



BIRDS OF SPIilNG. 237 

SO often given by the poets. With us, it begins about 
the middle of May, and lasts until nearly the middle of 
June. Earlier than this, winter is apt to return on its 
traces, and to blight the opening beauties of the yeai- ; 
and later than this, begin the parchmg, and panting, and 
dissolving heats of summer. But in this genial interval, 
Nature is in all her freshness and fragrance : " the rains 
are over and gone, the flowers appear upon the earth, the 
time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the 
turtle is heard in the land." The trees are now in their 
fullest foliage and brightest verdure ; the woods are gay 
with the clustered flowers of the laurel ; the air is per- 
fumed by the sweet-brier and the wild rose ; the meadows 
are enamelled with clover-blossoms ; while the young 
apple, the peach, and the plum, begin to swell, and the 
cherry to glow, among the green leaves. 

This is the chosen season of revelry of the Boblink. 
He comes amidst the pomp and fragrance of the season ; 
his life seems all sensibility and enjoyment, all song and 
sunshine. He is to be found in the soft bosoms of the 
freshest and sweetest meadows ; and is most in song 
when the clover is in blossom. He perches on the top- 
most twig of a tree, or on some long flaunting weed, and 
as he rises and sinks with the breeze, pours forth a suc- 
cession of rich tinkling notes ; crowding one upon an- 
other, like the outpouring melody of the skylark, and 
possessing the same rapturous character. Sometimes he 
pitches from the summit of a tree, begins his song as 
soon as he gets upon the wing, and flutters tremulously 
down to the earth, as if overcome with ecstasy at his 
own music. Sometimes he is in pursuit of his para- 
mour ; always in full song, as if he would win her by 
his melody ; and always with the same appearance of 
intoxication and delight. 



238 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

Oi' all the birds of our groves and meadows, the 
Boblink was the envy of my boyhood. He crossed my 
path in the sweetest weather, and the sweetest season 
of the year, when ah Nature called to the fields, and the 
rural feeling throbbed in every bosom ; but when I, luck- 
less urchin ! was doomed to be mewed up, during the 
livelong day, in that purgatory of boyhood, a school- 
room, it seemed as if the little varlet mocked at me, as 
he flew by in full song, and sought to taunt me with his 
happier lot. O how I envied him ! No lessons, no tasks, 
no hateful school ; nothing but holiday, frolic, green fields, 
and fine weather. 

Farther observation and experience have given me a 
different idea of this little feathered voluptuary, which I 
will venture to impart, for the benefit of my school-boy 
readers, who may regard him with the same unqualified 
envy and admiration Avhich I once indulged. I have 
shown him only as I saw him at first, in what I may 
call the poetical part of his career, when he in a manner 
devoted himself to elegant pursuits and enjoyments, and 
was a bird of music, and song, and taste, and sensibility, 
and refinement. While this lasted, he was sacred from 
injury ; the very school-boy would not fling a stone at 
him, and the merest rustic would pause to listen to his 
strain. But mark the difference. 

As the year advances, as the clover-blossoms disap- 
pear, and the spring fades into summer, his notes cease 
to vibrate on the ear. He gradually gives up his elegant 
tastes and habits, doffs his poetical and professional suit 
of black, assumes a russet or rather dusty garb, and 
enters into the gross enjoyments of common, vulgar birds. 
He becomes a bon vivant, a mere gourmand ; thinking 
of nothing but good cheer, and gormandizing on the 
seeds of the long grasses on which he lately swung, and 



BIRDS OF SPRING. 239 

chanted so musically. He begins to think there is nothing 
like " the joys of the table," if I may be allowed to apply 
that convivial phrase to his indulgences. He now grows 
discontented with plain, every-day fare, and sets out on 
a gastronomical tour, in search of foreign luxuries. He 
is to be found in myriads among the reeds of the Dela- 
ware, banqueting on their seeds ; grows corpulent with 
good feeding, and soon acquires the unlucky renown of 
the ortolan. Wherever he goes, pop ! pop ! pop ! the 
rusty firelocks of the country are cracking on every side ; 
he sees his companions falling by thousands around him ; 
he is the reed-bird, the much-sough t-for tit-bit of the 
Pennsylvanian epicure. 

Does he take warning and reform ? Not he ! He 
wings his flight still farther south in search of other 
luxuries. We hear of him gorging himself in the rice 
swamps ; filling himself with rice almost to bursting ; he 
can hardly fly for corpulency. Last stage of his career, 
we hear of him spitted by dozens, and served up on the 
table of the gourmand, the most vaunted of southern 
dainties, the rice-bird of the Carolinas. 

Such is the story of the once musical and admired, 
but finally sensual and persecuted Boblink. It con- 
tains a moral, worthy the attention of all little birds 
and little boys ; warning them to keep to those refined 
and intellectual pursuits, which raised him to so high a 
pitch of popularity, during the early part of his career ; 
but to eschew all tendency to that gross and dissipated 
mdulgence, which brought this mistaken little bird to an 
untimely end. 



240 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 



Portrait of a Dutchman. 

He was exactly five feet six inches in height, and 
six feet five inches in circumference. His head was a 
perfect sphere ; indeed, of such stupendous dimensions 
was it, that dame Nature herself would have been puz- 
zled to construct a neck capable of supporting it ; where- 
fore she wisely declined the attempt, and settled it firmly 
on the top of his back-bone, just between the shoulders, 
where it remained as snugly bedded as a ship of war in the 
mud of the Potomac. His body was of an oblong form, 
particularly capacious at bottom. His legs, though ex- 
ceeding short, were sturdy in proportion to the weight they 
had to sustain, so that, when erect, he had not a little the 
appearance of a robustious beer-barrel standing on skids. 
His face, that infallible index of the mind, presented a 
vast expanse, perfectly unfurrowed or deformed by any 
of those lines and angles which disfigure the human 
countenance with what is termed expression. Two small 
gray eyes twinkled feebly in the midst, like two stars of 
lesser magnitude in a hazy firmament ; and his full-fed 
cheeks, which seemed to have taken toll of every thing 
that went into his mouth, were curiously mottled, and 
streaked with dusky red, like a Spitzenberg apple. 

He daily took his four stated meals, appropriating 
exactly an hour to each ; he smoked and doubted eight 
hours, and he slept the remaining twelve of the four-and- 
twenty. 



morn: — noon: — evening, at granada. 241 

Morn : — Nooji : — Evening, at Granada. 

1. 

Scarce has the gray dawn streaked the sky, and the 
earhest cock crowed from the cottages on the hill-side, 
when the suburbs give sign of reviving animation ; for 
the fresh hours of dawning are precious in the summer 
season in a suhry cHmate. All are anxious to get the 
start of the sun in the business of the day. Tlie mule- 
teer drives forth his loaded train for the journey. The 
traveller slings his carbine behind his saddle, and mounts 
his steed at the gate of the hostel. The brown peasant 
urges his loitering beast, laden with panniers of sunny 
fruit and fresh dewy vegetables, for already the thrifty 
housewives are hastening to the market. 

The sun is up, and sparkles along the valley, tipping 
the transparent foliage of the groves. The matin bells 
resound melodiously through the pure bright air, announ- 
cing the hour of devotion. The muleteer halts his bur- 
thened animals before the chapel, thrusts his staff through 
his belt behind, and enters with hat in hand, smoothing 
his coal-black hair, to hear a mass, and put up a prayer 
for a prosperous wayfaring across the Sierra. 

And now steals forth on fairy foot the gentle Senora, 
in trim basquina, with restless fan in hand, and dark 
eye flashing from beneath the gracefully folded mantilla. 
She seeks some well frequented church, to offer up her 
morning orisons ; but the nicely adjusted dress, the 
dainty shoe and cobweb stocking, the raven tresses, 
exquisitely braided, the fresh-plucked rose, that gleams 
among them like a gem, show that earth divides with 
heaven the empire of her thoughts. Keep an eye upon 



242 THE CIIAYON READING BOOK. 

her, careful mother, or virgin aunt, or vigilant duenna, 
whichever you be, that walk behind. 



II. 

As the morning advances, the din of labor augments 
on every side ; the streets are thronged with man, and 
steed, and beast of burthen ; and there is a hum and 
murmur, like the surges of the ocean. As the sun 
ascends to his meridian, the hum and bustle gradually 
decline ; at the height of noon there is a pause. The 
panting city sinks into lassitude, and for several hours 
there is a general repose. The windows are closed ; the 
curtains drawn ; the inhabitants retired into the coolest 
recesses of their mansions. The brawny porter lies 
stretched on the pavement beside his burthen ; the pea- 
sant and the laborer sleep beneath the trees of the Ala- 
meda, lulled by the sultry chirping of the locust. The 
streets are deserted, except by the water-carrier, who 
refreshes the ear by proclaiming the merits of his spark- 
ling beverage — " colder than the mountain snow !" 

III. 

As the sun declines, there is again a gradual reviving, 
and when the vesper-beU rings out his sinking knell, all 
nature seems to rejoice that the tyrant of the day has 
fallen. Now begins the bustle of enjoyment, when the 
citizens pour forth to breathe the evening air, and revel 
away the brief twilight in the walks and gardens of the, 
Darro and the Xenil. 

As night closes, the capricious scene assumes new 
features. Light after light gradually twinkles forth ; 
here, a taper from a balconied window ; there, a votive 



.•^coTTiau MUSIC. 243 

lamp before the image of a saint. Thus by degrees the 
city emerges from the perv^adiiig gloom, and sparkles 
with scattered lights, like the starry firmament. Now 
break forth from court and garden, and street and lane, 
the tinkling of innumerable guitars, and the clicking of 
castanets. 



Scottish Music. 



We rambled among scenes which had been rendered 
classic by the pastoral muse, long before Scott had 
thrown the rich mantle of his poetry over them. What 
a thrill of pleasure did I feel when I first saw the broom- 
covered tops of the Cowdenknowes peeping above the 
gray hills of the Tweed ; and what touching associations 
were called up by the sight of Ettrick Yale, Gala Water 
and the Braes of Yarrow ! Every turn brought to mind 
some household air, some almost forgotten song of the 
nursery, by which I had been lulled to sleep in my 
childhood, and with them the looks and voices of those 
who had sung them, and who were now no more. Scot- 
land is eminently a land of song, and it is these melodies, 
chanted in our ears in the days of infancy, and connected 
with the memory of those we have loved, and who have 
passed away, that clothe Scottish landscape with such 
tender associations. 

The Scottish songs, in general, have something intrin- 
sically melancholy in them, owing, in all probability, to 
the pastoral and lonely life of those who composed them, 
who were often mere shepherds, tending their flocks in 
solitary glens, or folding them among the naked hills. 



244 THE CRAYON HEADING BOOK. 

Many of these rustic bards have passed away, with- 
out leaving a name behind them. Nothing remains of 
them but these sweet and toucliing httle songs, which 
hve hke echoes about the places they once inhabited. 
Most of these simple effusions are linked with some 
favorite haunt of the poet. And, in this way, not a 
mountain or valley, a town or tower, green shaw or 
running stream in Scotland, but has some popular air 
connected with it, that makes its very name a key-note 
to a whole train of delicious fancies and feelings. 

Scott went on to expatiate on the popular songs of 
Scotland : " They are a part of our national inheritance," 
said he, " and something that we may truly call our 
own. They have no foreign taint ; they have the pure 
breath of the heather and the mountain breeze. All the 
genuine legitimate races that have descended from the 
ancient Britons — such as the Scotch, the Welsh and the 
Irish — have national airs. The English have none ; 
because they are not natives of the soil, or are, at least, 
mongrels. Their nuisic is all made up of foreign scraps, 
like a harlequin's jacket, or a piece of mosaic. Even in 
Scotland, we have comparatively few national songs in 
the eastern part, where we have had most influx of 
strangers. 

" A real old Scottish song is a cairn-gorm, a gem of 
our own mountains ; or rather, it is a precious relic of 
old times, that boars the national character stamped 
upon it, like a cameo, that shows what the national 
visage was in former days, before the breed was crossed." 



THE "PARLIAMENT OAK." 245 

The ''Parliament Oak:'' 

(SHERWOOD FOREST.) 

So called in memory of an assemblage of the kind 
held by king John beneath its shade. The lapse of 
upwards of six centuries had reduced this once mighty 
tree to a mere crumbling fragment ; yet, like a gigantic 
torso in ancient statuary, the grandeur of its mutilated 
trunk gave evidence of what it had been in the days of 
its glory. 

In contemplating its mouldering remains, the fancy 
busied itself in calling up the scene that must have been 
presented beneath its shade, when this sunny hill swarm- 
ed with the pageantry of a warlike and hunting court; 
when silken pavilions and warrior-tents decked its crest; 
and royal standards, and baronial banners, and knightly 
penons rolled out to the breeze ; when prelates and cour- 
tiers, and steel-clad chivalry thronged round the person 
of the monarch ; while at a distance loitered foresters in 
green, and all the rural and hunting train that waited 
upon his sylvan sports. 

The reverie, however, was transient : king, courtier, 
and steel-clad warrior, and forester in green, with horn, 
and hawk, and hound, all faded again into oblivion. 

I was delighted to find myself in a genuine wild 
wood, of primitive and natural growth, so rarely to be 
met with in this thickly peopled and highly cultivated 
country. It reminded me of the aboriginal forests of 
my native land. I rode through natural alleys and 
greenwood glades, carpeted with grass and shaded by 
lofty and beautiful beeches. What most interested me, 
was to behold around the mighty trunks of veteran oaks, 



246 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

the patriarchs of Sherwood Forest. Like mouldering 
towers, they were noble and picturesque in their decay, 
and gave evidence, even in their ruins, of their ancient 
grandeur. 

In a httle while and this glorious woodland will be 
laid low ; its green glades turned into sheepwalks, its 
legendary bowers supplanted by turnip-fields, and " mer- 
ry Sherwood" will exist but in ballad and tradition. 

" Oh ! for the poetical superstitions," thought I, " of 
the olden time, that shed a sanctity over every grove ; 
that gave to each tree its tutelar genius or nymph, and 
threatened disaster to all who molested the Hamadryads 
in their leafy abodes !" 



The Wife. 

The treasures of the deep are not so precious 
As are the conceal'd comforts of a man 
Locked up in woman's love. I scent the air 
Of blessings, when I come but near the house. 
What a delicious breath marriage sends forth — 
The violet bed's not sweeter. 

MiDDLETON. 

I HAVE often had occasion to remark the fortitude 
with which women sustain the most overwhelming re- 
verses of fortune. Those disasters which break dov/n 
the spirit of a man, and prostrate him in the dust, seem 
to call forth all the energies of the softer sex, and give 
such intrepidity and elevation to their character, that at 
times it approaches to sublimity. Nothing can be more 
touching than to behold a soft and tender female, who 
had been all Aveakness and dependence, and alive to 



THE WIFE. 247 

every trivial roughness, while treading the prosperous 
paths of life, suddenly rising in mental force to be the 
comforter and support of her husband under misfortune, 
and abiding, with unshrinking firmness, the bitterest 
blasts of adversity. 

As the vine, which has long twined its graceful foliage 
about the oak, and been lifted by it into sunshine, will, 
when the hardy plant is rifted by the thunderbolt, cling 
round it with its caressing tendrils, and bind up its shat- 
tered boughs; so it is beautifully ordered by Providence, 
that woman, who is the mere dependent and ornament of 
man in his happier hours, should be his stay and solace 
when smitten with sudden calamity ; winding herself 
into the rugged recesses of his nature, tenderly support- 
ing the drooping head, and binding up the broken heart. 

I was once congratulating a friend, who had around 
him a blooming family, knit together in the strongest 
affection. " I can wish you no better lot," said he, with 
enthusiasm, " than to have a wife and children. If you 
are prosperous, there they are to share your prosperity ; 
if otherwise, there they are to comfort you." And, in- 
deed, I have observed that a married man falling into 
misfortune is more apt to retrieve his situation in the 
world than a single one ; partly because he is more stim- 
ulated to exertion by the necessities of the helpless and 
beloved beings who depend upon him for subsistence ; 
but chiefly because his spirits are soothed and relieved 
by domestic endearments, and his self-respect kept alive 
by finding, that tliough all abroad is darkness and hu- 
miliation, yet there is still a little world of love at home, 
of which he is the monarch. Whereas a single man is 
apt to run to waste and self-neglect ; to fancy himself 
lonely and abandoned, and his heart to fall to ruin like 
some deserted mansion, for want of an inhabitant. 



248 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

These observations call to mind a little domestic 
stoiy, of which I was once a witness. Mj^ intimate 
friend, Leslie, had married a beautiful and accomplished 
girl, who had been brought up in the midst of fashion- 
able life. She had, it is true, no fortune, but that of 
my friend was ample ; and he delighted in the antici- 
pation of indulging her in every elegant pursuit, and 
administering to those delicate tastes and fancies that 
spread a kind of witchery about the sex. — " Her life," 
said he, " shall be like a fairy tale." 

The very difference in their characters produced an 
harmonious combination : he was of a romantic and 
somewhat serious cast ; she was all life and gladjiess. 
I have often noticed the mute rapture with which he 
would gaze upon her in company, of which her sprightly 
powers made her the delight ; and how, in the midst of 
applause, her eye would still turn to him, as if there alone 
she sought favor and acceptance. When leaning on his 
arm, her slender form contrasted finely with his tall 
manly person. The fond confiding air with which she 
looked up to him seemed to call forth a flush of trium- 
phant pride and cherishing tenderness, as if he doted on 
his lovely burden for its very helplessness. Never did a 
couple set forward on the flowery path of early and well- 
suited marriage with a fairer prospect of felicity. 

It was the misfortune of my friend, however, to have 
embarked his property in large speculations ; and he had 
not been married many months, when, by a succession 
of sudden disasters, it was swept from him, and he found 
himself reduced almost to penury. For a time he kept 
his situation to himself, and went about with a haggard 
countenance, and a breaking heart. His life was but a 
protracted agony ; and what rendered it more insupporta- 
ble was the necessity of keeping up a smile in the pres- 



THE WIFE. 249 

ence of his wife ; for he could not bring himself to over- 
whelm her with the news. She saw, however, with the 
quick eyes of affection, that all was not well with him. 
She marked his altered looks and stifled sighs, and was 
not to be deceived by his sickly and vapid attempts at 
cheerfulness. She tasked all her sprightly powers and 
tender blandishments to win him back to happiness ; 
but she only drove the arrow deeper into his soul. The 
more he saw cause to love her, the more torturing was 
the thought that he was soon to make her wretched. A 
little while, thought he, and the smile will vanish from 
that cheek — the song will die away from those lips — the 
lustre of those eyes will be quenched with sorrow ; and 
the happy heart, which now beats lightly in that bosom, 
will be weighed down like mine, by the cares and mise- 
ries of the world. 

At length he came to me one day, and related his 
whole situation in a tone of the deepest despair. When 
I heard him through I inquired, " Does your wife know 
all this ?" — At the question he burst into an agony of 
tears. " For God's sake !" cried he, " if you have any 
pity on me, don't mention my wife ; it is the thought of 
her that drives me almost to madness !" 

" And why not ?" said I. " She must know it sooner 
or later : you cannot keep it long from her, and the intel- 
ligence may break upon her in a more startling manner, 
than if imparted by yourself; for the accents of those we 
love soften the harshest tidings. Besides, you are de- 
priving yourself of the comforts of her sympathy ; and 
not merely that, but also endangering the only bond that 
can keep hearts together — an unreserved community of 
thought and feeling. She will soon perceive that some- 
thing is secretly preying upon your mind ; and true love 
will not brook reserve ; it feels undervalued and out- 

11* 



250 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

raged, when even the sorrows of those it loves are con- 
cealed from it." 

" Oh, but, my friend ! to think what a blow I am 
to give to all her future prospects — how I am to strike 
her very soul to the earth, by telling her that her hus- 
band is a beggar ! that she is to forego all the elegancies 
of life — all the pleasures of society — to shrink with me 
into indigence and obscurity ! To tell her that I have 
dragged her down from the sphere in which she might 
have continued to move in constant brightness — the light 
of every eye — the admiration of every heart ! — How can 
she bear poverty ? she has been brought up in all the 
refinements of opulence. How can she bear neglect? 
she has been the idol of society. Oh ! it will break her 
heart — it will break her heart !— " 

I saw his grief was eloquent, and I let it have • its 
flow ; for sorrow relieves itself by words. When his 
paroxysm had subsided, and he had relapsed into moody 
silence, I resumed the subject, and urged him to break 
his situation at once to his wife. He shook his head 
mournfully, but positively, 

" But how are you to keep it from her ? It is neces- 
sary she should know it, that you may take the steps 
proper to the alteration of your circumstances. You 

must change your style of living nay," observing a 

pang to pass across his countenance, "don't let that 
afflict you. I am sure you have never placed your hap- 
piness in outward show — you have yet friends, warm 
friends, who will not think the worse of you for being 
less splendidly lodged : and surely it does not require a 
palace to be happy with Mary " 

" I could be happy with her," cried he, convulsively, 
" in a hovel ! — I could go down with her into poverty 
and the dust ! — I could — I could — God bless her ! — God 



THE WIFE. 251 

bless her !" cried he, bursting into a transport of grief and 
tenderness. 

" And beheve me, my friend," said I, stepping up, and 
grasping him warmly by the hand, " beheve me, she can 
be the same with you. Ay, more : it will be a source of 
pride and triumph to her — it will call forth all the latent 
energies and fervent sympathies of her nature ; for she 
will rejoice to prove that she loves you for yourself. 
There is in every true woman's heart a spark of heaven- 
ly fire, which lies dormant in the broad daylight of pros- 
perity ; but which kindles up, and beams and blazes in 
the dark hour of adversity. No man knows what the 
wife of his bosom is — no man knows what a ministering 
angel she is — until he has gone with her through the 
fiery trials of this world." 

There was something in the earnestness of my man- 
ner, and the figurative style of my language, that caught 
the excited imagination of Leslie. I knew the auditor I 
had to deal with ; and following up the impression I had 
made, I finished by persuading him to go homo and 
unburden his sad heart to his wife. 

I must confess, notwithstanding all I had said, I felt 
some little solicitude for the result. Who can calculate 
on the fortitude of one whose whole life has been a round 
of pleasure ? Her gay spirits might revolt at the dark 
downward path of low humility suddenly pointed out 
before her, and might cling to the sunny regions in which 
they had hitherto revelled. Besides, ruin in fashionable 
life is accompanied by so many galling mortifications, to 
which in other ranks it is a stranger. — In short, I could 
not meet Leslie the next morning without trepidation. 
He had made the disclosure. 

" And how did she bear it ?" 

" Like an angel ! It seemed rather to be a relief to 



252 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

her mind, for she threw her arms round my neck, and 
asked if this was all that had lately made me unhap- 
py. — But, poor girl," added he, " she cannot realize the 
change we must undergo. She has no idea of poverty 
but in the abstract ; she has only read of it in poetry, 
where it is allied to love. She feels as yet no privation ; 
she sufiers no loss of accustomed conveniencies nor ele- 
gancies. When we come practically to experience its 
sordid cares, its paltry wants, its petty humiliations — 
then will be the real trial." 

" But," said I, " now that you have got over the se- 
verest task, that of breaking it to her, the sooner you let 
the world into the secret the better. The disclosure may 
be mortifying ; but then it is a single misery, and soon 
over: whereas you otherwise suffer it, in anticipation, 
every hour in the day. It is not poverty so much as 
pretence, that harasses a ruined man — the struggle be- 
tween a proud mind and an empty purse — the keep- 
ing up a hollow show that must soon come to an end. 
Have the courage to appear poor, and you disarm poverty 
of its sharpest sting." On this point I found Leslie per- 
fectly prepared. He had no false pride himself, and as 
to his wife, she was only anxious to conform to their 
altered fortunes. 

Some days afterwards he called upon me in the even- 
ing. He had disposed of his dwelling house, and taken 
a small cottage in the country, a few miles from town. 
He had been busied all day in sending out furniture. 
The new establishment required few articles, and those of 
the simplest kind. All the splendid furniture of his late 
residence had been sold, excepting his wife's harp. That, 
he said, was too closely associated with the idea of herself; 
it belonged to the little story of their loves ; for some of 
the sweetest moments of their courtship were those when 



THE WIFE. 253 

he had leaned over that instrument, and hstened to the 
meUing tones of her voice. I could not but smile at this 
instance of romantic gallantry in a doting husband. 

He was now going out to the cottage, where his wife 
had been all day superintending its arrangement. My 
feelings had become strongly interested in the progress of 
this family story, and, as it was a fine evening, I offered 
to accompany him 

He was wearied with the fatigues of the day, and, as 
he walked out, fell into a fit of gloomy musing. 

" Poor Mary !" at length broke, with a heavy sigh, 
from his lips. 

" And what of her ?" asked I ; " has any thing happen- 
ed to her ?" 

*' What," said he, darting an impatient glance, " is it 
nothing to be reduced to this paltry situation — to be caged 
in a miserable cottage — to be obliged to toil almost in the 
menial concerns of her wretched habitation 7" 

" Has she then repined at the change ?" 

" Repined ! she has been nothing but sweetness and 
good humor. Indeed, she seems in better spirits than I 
have ever known her ; she has been to me all love, and 
tenderness, and comfort !" 

" Admirable girl !" exclaimed I. " You call yourself 
poor, my friend ; you never were so rich — you never 
knew the boundless treasures of excellence you possess 
in that woman." 

" Oh ! but, my friend, if this first meeting at the cot- 
tage were over, I think I could then be comfortable. 
But this is her first day of real experience ; she has been 
introduced into a humble dwelling — she has been em- 
ployed all day in arranging its miserable equipments — 
she has, for the first time, known the fatigues of domes- 
tic employment — she has, for the first time, looked round 



254 THE CRAYON READING BOOK. 

her on a home destitute of every thing elegant, — almost 
of every thing convenient ; and may now be sitting down, 
exhausted and spiritless, brooding over a prospect of fu- 
ture poverty." 

There was a degree of probability in this picture that 
I could not gainsay, so we walked on in silence. 

After turning from the main road up a narrow lane, 
so thickly shaded with forest trees as to give it a complete 
air of seclusion, we came in sight of the cottage. It 
was humble enough in its appearance for the most pasto- 
ral poet ; and yet it had a pleasing rural look. A wild 
vine had overrun one end with a profusion of foliage ; a 
few trees threw their branches gracefully over it ; and I 
observed several pots of flowers tastefully disposed about 
the door, and on the grassplot in front. A small wicket 
gate opened upon a footpath that wound through some 
shrubbery to the door. Just as we approached, we heard 
the sound of music — Leslie grasped my arm ; we paus- 
ed and listened. It was Mary's voice singing, in a style 
of the most touching simplicity, a little air of which her 
husband was peculiarly fond. 

I felt Leslie's hand tremble on my arm. He stepped 
forward to hear more distinctly. His step made a noise 
on the gravel walk. A bright beautiful face glanced out 
at the window and vanished — a light footstep was heard — 
and Mary came tripping forth to meet us : she was in a 
pretty rural dress of white ; a few wild flowers were twist- 
ed in her fine hair ; a fresh bloom was on her cheek ; 
her whole countenance beamed with smiles — I had never 
seen her look so lovely. 

" My dear George," cried she, " I am so glad you are 
come ! I have been watching and watching for you ; 
and running down the lane, and looking out for you. 
I've set out a table under a beautiful tree behind the cot- 



THE WIFE. 255 

tage ; and I've been gathering some of the most deUcious 
strawberries, for 1 know you are fond of them — and we 
have such excellent cream — and every thing is so sweet 
and still here — Oh !" said she, putting her arm within his, 
and looking up brightly in his face, " Oh, we shall be so 
happy !" 

Poor Leslie was overcome. He caught her to his bo- 
som — he folded his arms round her — he kissed her again 
and again — he could not speak, but the tears gushed into 
his eyes ; and he has often assured me, that though the 
world has since gone prosperously with him, and his life 
has, indeed, been a happy one, yet never has he experi- 
enced a moment of more exquisite felicity. 



THE END. 



1 



G. P. PUTNAM S 2*EW PUBLICATIONS. 



tot-JJoob for €nlk^tB uni) fiigtj Itljook, 

jfV^e Practieal 1^ locution ist^ 

For Colleges, Academios, and High Schools. 

BY JOHN W. S. HOWS, 

Professor of l^loculion in Columbia College. 

*,' This work is confidently recommended to the attention of the Teaching Public, and intelli- 
gem students, lor its thorough practical character. 

It comprises the Author's system of Elocutionary Instruction, which, during a long course of 
successful professional practice, has been most satisfactorily tested and stamped by public ap- 
proval. 

A close analytical dissection of the sense and construction of language is made the leading prin- 
ciple of instruction, rather than a servile adherence to elaborate mechanical rules. Natukb is at 
all times followed as the only sure Teacher. The perceptive and reasoning powers of the Pupil 
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A copious and varied selection of Examples, from the best Authors, are given for practice In the 
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youthful Pupil a vocabulary of thought and intbrraation on topics of general importance anil in- 
terest. 

Large 12mo. In August. 



The Crayon Readmg Booh ; 

Comprising Selections from the various Writings of 
WASHINGTON IRVING. 

Prepared for the use of Schools. 12mo. In August. 

' ,' This volume comprises a series of scenes, adventures, sketches of character, and historical 

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classes in schools and academies. 



The Botanical Text-Booh. 

BY PROF. A. GRAY, 

Of Harvard College. 

With 1000 Engravings on wood. New edition, 12mo, $1 75. [See page 11.] 

"The best idementary view of the vegetable kingdom." — Silliman's Journal. 



Prof. Dana's System of Mineralogy ; 

Comprising the most recent discoveries. New edition, 8vo, $3 50. [See p. 13.] 



A. Chemical Text-Booh. 

BY OLIVER WOLCOTT GIBBSf 

Professor of Chemistry in the Free Academy, New- 'York. 

12mo. In preparation. 
•34 



G. P. Putnam's new publications. 



€ni-%mh for Cnlkgrs nn^ ligji IrjjDDls. 



CONTINUED, 



A Mythological Text-Book : 

With original illustrations. Adapted to the use of Universities and High Schools, 
and for popular reading. 

BY M. A. DWIGHT. 

With an Introduction by Tayler Lewis, Professor of Greek in the University 

of New-York. 12nio, half bound $1 50. 
Also, a fine edition in octavo, with illustrations, cloth, $3 ; cloth gilt, $3 50 • 

half morocco, top edge gilt, $3 75. ' 

*.* This work has been prepared with ereat care, illustrated with effective outline drawirr^ 
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as to fi I the place as a te.xt-book, which is yet uns„pplied ; while it is also an attractive and 
readable table book for general use. It is introduced as a text-book in many of the leadir<^ colleges 
anu schools. "" "^s"" 

" As a book of reference for the general reader, we know not its equal. The information it con- 
tains is almost as necessary to the active reader of modern literature, as for the professed scholar " 
— Home Journal. • ^ ^..n^iai. 

"A valuable addition to our elementary school books, bein? written in good taste and with ability 
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Cos's Drawing Cards. 

Studies in Drawing, in a Progressive Series of Lessons on Cards ; beginning 
With the most Elementary Studies, and adapted for use at Home and in 
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BY BENJAMIN H. COE, 

Teacher of Drawing. 

In ten Series— marKed 1 to 10— each containing about eighteen Studies, 
25 cents each Series. 

The design is : 
I. To make the exercise in drawing highly interesting to the pupil 

II. To make drawmgs so simple, and so gradually prngres.sive, as to enable any teacher, whether 
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III. To take the place of one half of the writing lessons, with confi.lence that the learner will 

acquire a knowledge of writing in le?is lime than is usually required 

IV. To give the pupils a bold, rapid, and anist-like style of drawiii" 

They are executed with taste and skill, and form, in our judement,'one of the best series of les- 
sons in drawmg which we have met with. The author justly remarks, that " the whole is so sim- 
plified as to enable any teacher, without previous studv, to instruct his pupils with advantage " 



%, I. a. MMm 'tot-lnnk. 

An Elementary Treatise on Artillery and Infantry^ 

Adapted for the Service of the United States. Designed for the u.'^e of Cadets 
of the U. S. Military Academy, and for the Officers of the Independent 
Companies and Volunteers. 12mo. 

BY C. P. KINGSBURY, LIEUT. U. 8. A. 

•.'This volume is used as a text-book in the TIniteil States Military Academy, and will be intro 
duced in the other military schools. It is ..he mo.t useful and comprehensive treatise in e her 
French or Eng.ish ; and is equally adapted for xw. in ihe militia service and in the army 



G. P. Putnam's new publications. 



Single- 1 

Anglo-Saxon Course of Study. 

A Compendious Anglo-Saxon and English Dictionary. 

By the Rev. Joseph Bosworth, D.D., F.R S., &c., &c. 1 vol., 8vo, 

cloth, $3. 

A G-rammar of tlie Anglo-Saxon Language. 

By Louis F. Klipstein, A.M., LL.M., and Ph. D., of the University of 
Giessen. 12ino, cloth, $1 25. 

Tha Halgan Godspel on Englisc. 

The Anglo-Saxon Version of the Holy Gospels. Edited by Benjamin 
Thorpe, F.S. A. Reprinted by the same. 12mo, cloth, $1 25. 

Analecta Anglo- Saxonica., 

With an Introductory Ethnological Essay, and Notes, Critical and Ex- 
planatory. By Louis F. Klipstein, A.M., LL.M., and Ph. D., of the 
University of Giessen. 2 vols., 1200 pages, $3 50. 

Natale Saficti Grcgorii PapcB. 

.iElfric's Homily on the Birthday of St. Gregory, and Collateral Ex- 
tracts from King Alfred's Version of Bede's Ecclesiastical History 
and the Saxon Chronicle, with a full Rendering into English, Notes 
Critical and Explanatory, and an Index of Stems and Forms. By 
Louis F. Klipstein, A.M., LL.M., and Ph. D., of the University of 
Giessen. 12mo, 75 cts. 

A Glossary to the Analecta Anglo- Saax)yiica.^ 

With the Indo-Germanic and other Affinities of the Language. By 
Louis F. Klipstein, A.M., LL.M., and Ph. D., of the University of 
Giessen In preparation. 

" There i.s no doubt that a few years hence, the persevering and ill-rewarded toils of this learned 
scholar will be looked back upon with sincere gratitude, by all who love the study of our incom- 
parable language, in its better and more sinewy part. If Dr. K. is, as we suppose, a foreigner, he 
has acquired a mastery of English which is marvellous, and which, by the by, shows the advantage 
to be derived from Anglo-Saxon. These volumes, taken in connection with the grammar, and the 
forthcomins glossary, will make it ea.sy for any private student to make himself acquainted with 
that delightful old tongue, to which we owe almost all our words of endearment, such as home, 
father, mother, brother, sister ; almost all our names of English flowers, as daisy, cowslip, prim- 
rose, nosegay ; and abundance of the short, monosyllabic, pungent nouns, which half-learneci folka 
would barter away for sesquipedalian latinisms. We mean such as dell, dale, wrath, wealth, 
kmire, thrust, churl, wreath, and soul. The preliminary essay prepares the way, by tracing very 
clearly the lineage of the Anglo-Saxon language : it is a valuable contribution to Ethnology." — 
Presbyterian. 

'•Surely it is a matter of concern to know and understand well our own tongue. How much 
better then would it be, if in our public and private schools, as much attention at least were given 
to the teachings of English as of Greek and Latin, that our youths might bring home with them a 
racy idiomatic way ofspeaking and writing their own language, instead of a smattering of Greek 
and Latin, which they almost forget and generally neglect in a few years' time. * * ' For this, 
a study of the AngloSixon is absolutely needful ; for after all, it has bequeathed to us by far the 
largest stock of words in our language." — Loudon. 

"The most valuable portion of our language comes to us directly through the Anglo-Saxon ; and 
to make the study of it a part of our general system of education, would be to administer the most 
powerful antidote to the deteriorating influence of would-be fine speakers and writers, which is 
gradually robbing our English speech of much of its native energy and precision.— iiY. World. 

26 



G. P. Putnam's nbw publications. 



05 



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Selections from the Poetical Works of Geoffrey Chaucer. By Charles D. 
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Chancer and Spenser. 



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Deshler. Spenser, and the Faery Queen. By Mrs. C. M. Kirkland. 
1 vol., lamo, cloth, $1 25. 

" A mine of wealth ami enjoyment, a golden treasury of exquisite models, of graceful fancies, of 
fine inventions, and of beautiful diction." — Cincinnati Herald. 



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man of La Motte Fouqu^. 1 vol., 12mo, green cloth, 50 cts. 

" Undine is an exquisite creation of the imagmation, and universally regarded as a masterpiece 
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Gilman^ Mrs. — The Sibyl ; 

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Room. 1 vol., l2mo, cloth, extra gilt, $1 50. 

" A svceet book of short and most pleasant quotations from the poets, illustrative of character, 
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Year public." — Evangelist. 



Goldsmith. — The Vicar of Walcefield. 

By Oliver Goldsmith. 1 vol., l2mo, neatly printed, cloth, 50 cts. 

The same, illustrated with designs by Mulready, elegantly bound, gilt 

edges, $1. 

" This tale is the lasting monument of Goldsmith's genius, his great legacy of pleasure to genera- 
tions past, present, and to come." 



Hervey. — The JBooh of Christmas : 



Descriptive of the Customs, Ceremonies, Traditions, Supe'-stitions, Fun, Feel- 
ing, and Festivities of the Christmas Season. By Thomas K. Hervey. 
12mo, green cloth, 63 cts. 

The same, gilt extra, $L 

'Eyery leaf of this book affords a feast worthy of the season." — Dr. Hawks' Church Record. 

27 



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fotiim ~£tiixm, 

CONTINUED. 

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Bv Thomas Hood. l2mo, green cloth, %\.. 

The same, gilt extra, %\ 25. 

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Howitt. — Ballads and other Poems, 

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The same, with fine portrait, gilt extra, $1. 

" Her poems are always graceful and beautiful. — Mrs. S. C. Hall. 

" We cannot commend too highly the present pi#lication, and only hope that the reading public 
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form." — Albion. 



Hunt. — Pnagination and Fancy ; 



Or, Selections from the English Poets, illustrative of those first requisites 
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of the best writers, &c. By Leigh Hunt. 1 vol., 12mo, green cloth, 
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Westminster Review. 

" This volume is moat justly to be called a feast of nectared sweets where no crude surfeit reigns." 
London Examiner. 



Hunt. — Stories from tJie Italian Poets : 



Being a Summary in Prose of the Poems of Dante, Pulci, Boiardo, Ariosto, 
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Critical Notices of the Lives and Genius of the Authors. By Leigh 
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The same, fancy gilt, $1 75. 



"Mr. Hunt's book has been aptly styled, a series of exquisite engravings of the magnificent pic- 
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28 



G. P. putnajm's new publications. 



CONTINUED. 

Tlie History of Neiv- York, 

From the Beginning of the World to the End of the Dutch Dynasty. 
12mo, cloth, $1 25. 

TJie Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent. 
l2mo, cloth, $1 25. 

Bracdn-idge Hall ; or, Tlie Humorists : 

A Medley. 12mo, cloth, $1 25. 

Tales of a Traveller. 

12mo, cloth, $1 25. 

Tlie Conquest of Granada. 

12mo, cloth, $1 25. 

The Alhambra. ^ 

12mo, cloth, $1 25. 

Tlie Crayon Miscdlany. 

12nio, cloth, $1 25. 

Oliver Goldsmith : a Biography. 

12mo, cloth, $1 25. 

Miscellanies. 

12mo, cloth, $1 25. 

.* See " History," " Travels," &c 
N. B. Any of the above may be hart in extra bindings : half calf, 75 cts. extra ; half moroecOi SI 
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Keats. — Poetical Worhs. 

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The same, gilt extra, $1 25. 

" They are flushed all over vpith the rich lights of fancy ; and bo colored and bestrewn with the 
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to resist the intoxication of their sweetness, or to shut our hearts to the enchantment they so 
lavishly present. — Francis Jeffrey. 



Keats. — L'ife-, Letters., &e. 

The Life, Letters, and Literary Remains of John Keats. Edited by Richard 
MoNCTON MiLNES. Portrait and fac-simile. 1 vol., 12mo, cloth, $1 25. 

The same, gilt extra, $1 50. 

"A volume which will take its place among the imperishable ones of the age." * ' * "It is 
replete with interest." 

20 



G. P. PUTNAM S HEW PUBLICATIONS. 



The Nwrsery Book for Young Mothers. 

BY MRS. L. C. TUTHILL. 

18mo, 50 cents. 

*,' This volume will be a welcome present to young mothers. It comprises familiar letters on 
all topics connected with the medical and educational departments of the Nursery, and is just 
such a book as every mother will find practically useful ; and all the more so as it is written by a 
competent and experienced person of their own sex. 

"There is much excellent counsel in this volume, with occasional toucnes of nature, which 
shows that the author is observant, and has accustomed herself to note the errors of physical and 
domestic education. Indeed there are some happy hits at the mistakes of this sort which are as 
common as children, and graver admonitions that ' young mothers,' and some assuming to have 
more experience, might greatly profit by." — N. Y. Com. Adv. 

"The title of this neat little volume would not at first seem to mdicate any thing new or pecu- 
liarly intere.sting, but at the very first page the attention is arrested, and from ihence to the very 
last note in the Appendix the interest does not flag. It is no dry disquisition upon diet and medi- 
cines, but has for its topic nursery education in every branch. The instruction on these various 
points is communicated in sprightly letters from an aunt to her niece, who, despondmg like all 
young mothers when first left to the care of their infants, applies to her for assistance. The niece. 
Mrs. Haston, is extremely well drawn. From the moment that she fir.st attempts the child's bath, 
and sits 'shivering and trembling, afraid to touch the droll little object,' to her anxious inquiries 
with regard to the mental and moral training of her children, she is a true woman, and a true mo- 
ther. The circumstances which call forth the various points of instruction from her aunt are 
most naturally developed, and, on the whole, we regard it as the best hook of the kind ever pub- 
lished. Its peculiar excellence is the sprightly and agreeable style which we have before alluded 
to, and which would arrest the attention of many a giddy 'girl-mother,' who would throw aside a 
dry treatise in despair. Mrs. Tuthill quotes the most unexceptionable authorities for her nursery 
rules for health." — Phila. Sat. Gazette. 



€^mt 36nnks fnr "^nnng pnmm iint Irjjnnl Xikiims. 

MRS. L. C. TUTH I L L. 

Success in lAfe : The Merchant : 

A Biography ; with Anecdotes and Practical Application for New Beginners. 
12mo. In August. 

" We fare on earth as other men have fared ; 
Were they successful 1 Let us not despair !" 



/Success in Life / The Mechanic : 

A Biographical Example. l8mo. In September. 
[To be followed by " The Artist," " The Lawyer," &c.] 

',* The aim of this Series is to develop the talent and energy of boys just merging into man- 
hood, and to assi.st them in choosing their pursuits for life. 

"Success! How the heart bounds at the exulting word? Success! Man's aim from the mo- 
ment he places his tiny foot upon the floor till he lays his weary gray head in the grave. Suc- 
cess, the exciting motive to all endeavor and its crowning glory." — Extract from Preface. 



Evenings with the Old Story Tellers. 

One volume, 12mo, green cloth, 50 cents. 

" A quiet humor, a quaintness and terseness of style will strongly recommend thom." — EnglitK 
Churchman. 

32 



G. P. PUTNAil'S NEW PUBLICATIONS. 



CONTINUED. 

Glimpses of the Wonderful. 

An entertaining account of Curiosities of Nature and Art. First, Second, and 
Third Series, with numerous Fine Illustrations, engraved in London 
Square 16mo tloth, each, 75 cents. 



MISS SEDGEWICK. 



The Morals of Manners ; 



Or, Hints for our Young People. New Edition. Square 1 6nno, with cuts, 
cloth, 25 cents. 



Facts and Fancies^ 



For School-Day Reading; a Sequel to " Morals of Manners." Square 16mo, 
with cuts, 50 cents. 

".* These excellent lilile books, prepared with reference to the important but too much neglected 
matter of the pood and bad manners of young people, are worthy of a place in every School Li- 
brary in the land — and should be put in the hands of every child old enough to understand that 
good manners are, and should be, quite as essential as progress in book-learning. The School 
Committee of New-York, have ordereil them for all the City School libraries. A cheaper edition 
ef the Morals of Manners can be supplied for $12 50 per 100. 



The Some Treasury / 



Comprising new versions of Cinderella, Beauty and the Beast, Grumble and 
Cheery, The Eagle's Verdict, The Sleeping Beauty. Revised and Illus- 
trated. Small 4to, 50 cents. 



Young JSfaturalist^s Hannbles through Many Lands / 

With an Account of the Principal Animals and Birds of the Old and New 
Continents. With Woodcuts. Cloth, 50 cents. 



The Oanrne of Natiural History. 



A Series of Cards, Carefully Drawn and Colored, representing the most 
Important and Interesting of the Animal Creation. With Questions. 
Arranged bo as to form a Pleasant and Interesting Entertainment for a 
Juvenile Party, while it also gives Desirable Information. Price 50 cents, 
in a Case. 

33 



rtl 





^1o Gi<^^ 



/ 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
II llh.lll l|:|;ll.!l'JiJllMlll.ll|{|lilllill 

018 597 710 9 



